His Buddy Socko
by twowritehands
Summary: "She said tell HIM that HIS socks rock. I guess she's been assuming my buddy Socko is a man." "That's funny, people were asking about the artist Shay and if SHE was hiring for models!"  "HA! Did you correct them?" "No." "I DIDN'T EITHER!" SpockoNOTSLASH
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: iCarly belongs to smarter, cooler people

_AN: the chapter titles are random Spencer-lines from the show that have at least some obscure connection to what is about to happen, if you squint maybe?_

**1. It's Called the Fire-Cracker, You Probably Heard of It.**

Carly was crying. Who knew why anymore.

"Don't cry, blue skies!" Spencer sang-shouted as he bolted down the stairs to where his grandmother was trying to calm her. His backpack was slung over one of the skinny teenaged boy's shoulders and the bus would be by any minute.

He looked at his two-year-old baby sister who was red in the face, tears tracks were streaked down her cheeks and snot was everywhere. He screwed up his face and started to mimic her. Once he'd gotten the pitch right, her sobs quieted almost instantly and she stared at him in surprise—what did _he_ have to cry about? He kept it up until her breathing was back under control and most of the redness had gone from her face.

When she was calm, he became calm again.

"Well, I never!" Grandmom cried in wonder. Spencer laughed and kissed her forehead, and outside the bus blew its horn.

"Gotta go!"

"Be careful, love you!" Grandmom called after him as the screen door opened too far and whacked the wall.

"Love you!"

"Wuv _oo_!" echoed little Carly.

He darted down the driveway, through the rain, and leapt onto the bus, skipping the first step entirely. His wet converse squeaked and skidded on the step when he landed and the thin, soles very nearly didn't hold. He flailed around, grabbed the safety rail as well as the rod mechanism that opened the door. There. He wasn't falling anymore, but he was nearly hanging out of the bus.

"Careful!" barked the bus driver.

It was just an _awesome_ way to start the very first day of tenth grade in Yakima.

There was a new girl in first period. Spencer had lots of experience being the new kid having moved around his entire life—that was, until Carly was born and they came to live with Grandmom and Granddad. He knew she would appreciate a kind smile and someone to talk to.

"Waddup?" he asked, plopping down into the desk next to her.

She looked around at him—blue eyes so bright they looked like sapphires in the sunlight. Her white-blond ponytail nearly reached her desk seat, and she was wearing a white dress with a hem cut so that he could see knee-high socks of black and white stripes. Over all she looked like some kind of witch bride.

Spencer liked it.

"Hi," she said.

"Spencer Shay," he said. "You might have heard of me—they call me The King."

She laughed, "The King of what?"

"Pranks,"

"Oh," she said, "Well, I'm Annie Pren." She leaned forward across the aisle between them and said in a whisper, "They call me Socko."

"So you always wear socks like that?"

"Yeah, aren't they cool?"

"Sure," Spencer said, with a shrug. She was pretty enough with or without them so he didn't care either way.

"You're the kid that nearly killed himself getting on the bus this morning."

"YOU RIDE MY BUS?" he shouted.

She nodded, laughing.

"Cool," he said, though he wasn't sure he liked that she'd seen that. "So where're you from?"

"Here."

"Really? Never saw you around before."

"I was home-schooled."

"Oh,"

"But Dad walked out on us, so we moved into a smaller place and mom has to get a second job and well—no time for home lessons anymore."

Spencer had no idea how to respond to that other than, "That sucks."

"Yeah," she sighed.

"My mom died two years ago," he said suddenly. Maybe to try to balance things, he didn't know.

She blinked those shocking blue eyes. "Oh." There were a few beats and then she said. "Sorry."

The school day began and they had no classes together for the rest of the day. But she was on the bus when he boarded that afternoon.

"Saved a seat for ya," she said. She had her ponytail over one shoulder and she was braiding it wickedly fast. She must have been at it all day; there were hundreds of miniscule little braids.

"Thanks, Socko," he sank down next to her and kicked his bag into the floor.

"So wanna come over after school?" she asked, "I live two houses down from yours."

"Um, sorry—can't. Gotta help with my baby sister."

It wasn't a complete lie. The truth was he didn't want to go into a home-schooled witch's house. No matter how nice she was. It was weird.

For the rest of the year, they shared the bus ride and first period, chatting about random things—his latest prank or the last thing she saw on cable television. Even though she had been home-schooled, which Spencer had always believed was kind of sheltering, it turned out she was exposed to far more than he was. Grandmom and Grandad didn't have cable and even if they did, they'd never let him watch the stuff she talked about.

It sounded far too awesome.

It was weird at first, the way she spoke of things—things that made Spencer blush—with open easiness, even curiosity. She asked him outright about a lot of it, the kinds of things that would naturally be a mystery to girls. His answers were mumbled and brief. Once, he had to clap a hand over her mouth and tell her to stop.

Just. Stop.

(He never had the courage to ask her for certain explanations in return, and he was eternally thankful that she didn't supply them on her own. It wasn't that he didn't want to know—holy crab did he want to know—but she was a naturally loud speaker and enough people twisted around to look at them with wide eyes without adding _that_.) He tried to encourage her to speak only of the violent or horrifying things she saw on television, to save himself the blushes.

But even then, she managed to be shocking in her bluntness.

Sometimes he was so thankful that first period was over that he bolted for the door.

In his eleventh year, they shared no classes whatsoever and so it was only on bus rides that he had to deal with her. Not that he didn't like her—he quite enjoyed her, but only in _small_ doses.

Like her outfits.

He could handle her outfits. They were fun. She wore dresses a lot, mostly something white resembling old-fashioned wedding dresses, and whacky handcrafted jewelry. She ALWAYS had on knee-high socks and he was almost sure she never wore the same pair twice.

Otherwise, she was far too much for one guy to deal with. She was excited to be in public school. She talked to teachers like they were her friends or something. She loved homework. She held up the lunch line to question lunch ladies using words like _soy_ and _organic_ and _local ecosystem_. She occasionally broke into song, loudly and with her eyes closed. She skipped down the hallway.

Aside from the various weird things about her, she always complimented his sketches, which was sweet of her. And she was funny. The girl named Socko was weird like that. She was the weirdest kid in school and, weirdly, most people liked her. She made a lot of friends, a variety across the board—cheerleaders, nerds, even the kids Spencer considered dangerous, and they ranged from freshmen, to seniors.

While his neighbor was a social butterfly, Spencer himself wasn't. He just had school buddies, kids he talked to every day in class but never called or invited over. His time was devoted to chores (which chiefly involved looking after Carly) and video games. At school he had a name for himself as the King of Pranks, but the rest of the time he was Carly's big brother "Pencey" and the Lord of the Game Sphere.

When Spencer got a car, he found himself asking her if she would like him to drive her to school. He wouldn't be riding the bus anymore, which was the only time they ever saw each other, and it felt mean to just stop seeing her all together like that. So he asked her, he couldn't help it.

He got a little more than he bargained for, learning on the first morning that he picked her up that she had an older brother, Tyler, who was a senior without a car and twice as blunt as his little sister. Seriously, the words Tyler wasn't afraid to use made Socko seem pretty delicate in word choice. The pair seemed to be at their bluntest in the mornings, and started every weekday with vivid recaps of dreams Spencer felt were the kind of things people were supposed to keep to themselves, or at the very least from one's brother or sister. Weird family.

And it wasn't like Spencer could drown it out with music. Dad wouldn't pay to install a new CD player, and the car had only had talk radio, so unless they wanted to hear the broadcast of a local religious sermon, they kept the radio off. He found himself speeding to school just to shorten the trips.

But since Tyler had an after school job he wasn't there for the drives home, and Socko started borrowing Spencer's CDs and making the coolest mixed tapes to listen to on the way, so it wasn't all bad.

For her sixteenth birthday, she threw a big party and he finally saw the inside of her house. He was surprised that it looked perfectly normal, only it had a Buddha statue in the bathroom and an entire wall in the living room covered in finger paint.

He got her a pair of weird socks—wholly unoriginal as it turned out that the rest of the guests had had the same idea. Literally. Sixteen years old and she got twenty pairs of socks.

But she honestly didn't care, she was thrilled by each pair that she unwrapped.

After that, when she invited him over, he only turned her down when he had an actual excuse. They watched old movies and played video games or did homework if Tyler was there because Tyler was going to make sure his little sister got a college degree, so she would have more options than their mom, who was a manager at the local Inside Out Burger.

Spencer became a regular fixture in her house.

Until he accidently spilled gravy on an old rug, which turned out to be her grandmother's there on a kind of loan. He kind of wasn't welcome after that.

Senior year was a blast. She made friends with a girl named Stephanie that Spencer couldn't stop thinking about. She hooked them up and he got her interested in the quirkiest of his school buddies. His last year as a high school student was filled with double-dates, laughs, patented dance moves, and his landscape sketching phase.

A week after they graduated, Stephanie broke Spencer's heart. Meanwhile, Socko and their classmates moved to Seattle to follow their dreams of artistry. Spencer packed his bags and went to college. They called occasionally and somehow it became a thing to call on birthdays and leave incredibly silly birthday songs on each other's machines, but they never had the time to meet.

Four years of papers, exams, and the occasional hot professor later, Spencer was starting Yale Law School—yeah, _Yale_, why was everyone so surprised?—and then he was almost instantly dropping out—and Socko was opening a café in Seattle. He decided he didn't care for the east coast and would like to live in Seattle. Not only did he already have friends there—well, one friend, kind of—but he would be close enough to Yakima to see Carly regularly.

He got an apartment with enough space for an art studio, and then got two jobs, one in a junk yard and another waiting tables, to pay for it—just until he made a name for himself as a artist, of course.

Five years later, he was able to ditch the waiting tables thing but he still needed the junkyard paycheck. Then Grandmom was dead, and fourteen-year-old Carly was moving in with Spencer. With her came a monthly check for child-support from Dad and then another one from Grandad. So the junk yard lost a beloved employee.

Socko had dropped off the map for a year or two and then she called to say she was graduating from an electrical design school… She sent him what she called "Socko Socks". What he found in the box was something that only Socko could have made. A whacky pair of socks like she always wore, but they lit up.

He smiled and put them on, showed them off the first chance he got.

"Check out my socks!"

"Whoa! Cool! Where'd'ya get 'em?"

"My buddy Socko made 'em."

...

"I'm going out, kiddo, lock the door behind me."

"Okay—wait, where're'ya goin'?"

"To meet Socko. I picked up five more orders for Socko Socks—they're really popular!"

"Okay, see you later, and tell him your little sister thinks his socks rock."

Spencer smiled—and with words on the tip of his tongue he was out the door, but then it was shut and locked behind him, and suddenly there was no time to make corrections. With a laugh, he hurried to the café.

It was raining, of course. He darted out of the downpour and into the warm and dry of the café. He shook the water from his dad's old faded army jacket, scrubbed his converse on the mat.

_Squeak, squeak _

A man sat in the corner, plucking out a tune on a guitar. The usual hobo was in out of the rain, huddled in the corner with a free hot tea. The smattering of customers were local college kids or struggling artists. The coffee machine was grinding away at the beans, overpowering the sound of light murmuring conversation. In the far corner was a man-sized sculpture, his latest one.

"No way!" he cried sprinting to it.

"Haha!" cried the girl behind the counter as she counted out change. She had hair the color of a red bell pepper, cut at her chin and styled into a perfect bob—it was like a helmet, or rather a giant red bell pepper with its bottom cut open and wedged onto her head. She smiled, setting the brightest, bluest eyes in the world aglow. "You likes?"

"I loves!"

"Artist of the house next served!" she said even though no one else was in line. He left his sculpture for the counter and bent his long frame to rest on his elbows on the ceramic tiles there—a mosaic, something new age and abstract. Spencer didn't get it, but he liked it. It was all blues, greens and browns. To him it looked like a shattered world pieced back together, backwards and inside out, but whole again, and he'd lost a mother on the same day he got a sister so he could understand that.

He was momentarily lost in his memories as he stared at the tiles of the counter. The guitarist spoke up over his own melody to ask of the lone café worker,

"Hey, Socko, is that the guy who made The Running Man?" and she replied, "Yup—and he's looking for a new commission, too."

"I'll spread the word around," the musician said.

"Thanks!" She did a kind of twirl-gliding-walking-thing that looked like a move that belonged in an ice dancing routine, to Spencer's end of the counter and dropped down onto her elbows, too. Her right arm was covered in tattoos of stars, a kind of waterfall of them. She mirrored his stance. It put her blue eyes right on level with his brown ones. Her full pink lips had a quirk in one corner.

"What'll it be, Shay?" she asked.

"The usual, thanks," he said, straightening and running his fingers through his short hair where he felt water droplets rolling around tickling him. She reached up and tugged at a cowlick. "You ought to grow it out—I bet you'd look sexy."

He scoffed instantly with Colonel Shay's voice booming in his head that there were _men_ hairstyles and _women_ hairstyles and they ought to stay that way. Then he wondered why he was still letting his father tell him what to do.

"Maybe I will," he said as he dropped cash for his coffee onto the table. Then he dug a piece of paper from his back pocket and waved it in front of her eyes.

"Oooh, what's that?" she asked, breathless with pretend wonder.

"Five orders for Socko's Socks," he said and her pretend wonder vanished, replaced with wide-eyed surprise.

"_Five_?" She echoed.

He nodded. She squealed and lifted the countertop to hurry to him and snatch the paper away. Beneath a swishing black skirt were black knee-high socks that lit up with a pattern of white skulls and she wore red converse shoes.

"And my little sister says your socks rock," he added as she swirled around a little more.

"She's sweet," Socko said, as her blue eyes swept over the orders for her socks. She sank into a chair at a window table. Spencer dropped his long frame into the one across from her. His mouth was open and he was smiling—it looked like a turtle smile.

"It's funny," Spencer said, "because actually she said 'tell _him_ that _his_ socks rock'. I guess she's been automatically assuming all these years that my friend Socko was a man."

Socko's blue eyes were round and she forgot about her orders. She was smiling so big all her teeth were showing—and they were nice teeth.

"That's so _hilarious_!" She cried, grabbing his hand with the one where the star fall ended in a single blue star beneath her knuckles. "The same thing happened this morning! Well, not the _same_ thing, but—"she fluttered her hands around as if to bat away the irrelevant. "My friends were in asking about The Running Man and I said that my friend _Shay_ made it, and one asked if _she _was hiring for models!"

Spencer laughed, thrilled by the strangeness of coincidence. "HA!" His eyebrows snapped together and went low over his brown eyes. "Did you correct them?"

She looked down, then up through thick eyelashes with a sheepish smile. "No,"

"I DIDN'T EITHER!" Spencer cried exuberantly and with inappropriate volume in his excitement. The guitarist skipped a beat in his playing and all faces looked around at him, but then no one cared and the music was back.

Spencer and Socko laughed for nearly twenty minutes and then she had some customers to serve and he had to get back to the apartment—Carly was only fourteen and he didn't feel comfortable leaving her alone for too long.

Carly was watching TV. "Hey was Socko psyched by all the orders for his socks?"

Spencer smiled, a laugh bubbling out of him—it was baffling how he could have a friend for twelve years and somehow never made it clear that she was a woman—but then he decided it was too funny to fix. He didn't correct Carly.

And it would be years before he would _have_ to.

_AN: So what do you think? Is this Spencer/OC or Spocko?_


	2. Chapter 2

**2. I'm Going Camping with Socko, These Two Really Hot Girls We Met at the Junkyard, aaaaand Socko's Grandmother. Incase there are bears.**

While both were artists and friends, Socko and Spencer didn't run in the same circles a lot. She was friends with all kinds of people. There were some normal people, like him-if Tyler and their cousins could be considered normal- and then there were people who were literally trying to turn themselves into lizards by getting green scales tattooed _everywhere_ and cutting their tongues in half, people who practiced _magic_, or spoke to ghosts, and a lot of them had names like Plum or Juicy. When she wasn't hosting art exhibits in a ware-house space she owned, she was at a concert, or a cook-out, or off on some non-violent protesting thing, some kind of Statement that needed to be made.

Spencer preferred a less social week. He liked having his calendar with space in it. That way he could be sure to be there for Carly if ever she needed him, and if she didn't need him, he could think about his next project. He spent hours imagining and planning, and then hours creating. He never craved a crowd and if he did, two days with Socko and her friends usually lasted him a few weeks.

His life was all himself, his work, and Carly, with the occasional spice of Socko.

He liked it that way.

In this way, three years passed and the joke of misunderstood genders was maintained, since they never really saw each other's friends. For Carly, Socko continued being an ambiguous man who possessed wicked talents with socks and tiny light bulbs. And for anyone who asked Socko about the art she exhibited,Shay continued being just another one of the creative women that Socko tended to know. No one ever asked for his first name in the same way that Carly never asked for Socko's. After all, in the circles of artists, it was typical for someone to have only one name.

Carly was in high school, a full fledge teenager with teenager issues that demanded a lot of Spencer's Guardianship. At first it was nothing he wasn't ready to handle. Just girl stuff. She was in love with a boy and then she wasn't. She was mad at Sam and then she wasn't. He had loads of time for himself and his art. But after Carly began the eleventh grade, Spencer decided if he lived to be a hundred years old he never wanted a daughter because if it was this hard with a sister—no wonder Dad left it all to him.

For one thing, she thought she knew everything. And she didn't. But if she didn't get her way she pitched a fit and called Dad, who spoiled her to make up for not being there. So she always got her way in the end, one way or another. It only worsened her illusion that the world was easy and people were always nice. He tried talking to Carly about it but she wouldn't listen because she thought she knew everything. It sparked plenty of shouting matches between them that ended with slammed doors and calls to Dad.

Besides all that, Spencer liked to think he was a cool guardian. He never forced her to do chores or anything like that (she did them anyway because she was a neat freak) and he stressed the importance of expressing oneself. He remembered what it was like to be a teenager and he knew the harder he tried to be involved in this period of her life the worse it would get. She had to figure things out herself, make her own mistakes. But not too many. Nothing _huge_.

Sheesh how did parents do it? How did they keep themselves from literally locking their daughters in towers like in the fairytales so nothing bad ever happened to them? What a simple, beautiful idea. Lock her up, save all the trouble for the noble knight who would rescue her and marry her. Let him take care of her. Done. Free to worry about nothing.

But then she found her noble knight and Spencer's worries did anything but disappear. In fact they doubled. She was dating Gibby, who was less awkward these days with scruff on his jaw, and Spencer was grounding her for missing curfew. Dad got her a car and she got a speeding ticket. Gibby got her a ring and Spencer, with a bug in his ear that'd been planted back when Socko made him blush on the bus, put Carly on The Pill.

It'd been an awkward decision, but all the movies and commercials were saying the same thing. Kids would try—heck, he did—and it was better to educate them. Prepare them so nothing bad happened. So embarrassed that she couldn't even say most of the words she was being forced to use, she'd promised that _those_ were _way_ over cautionary because she and Gibby weren't—hadn't…_you know_…because it was just way too…_yikes_ and _sheesh_ she so didn't need…_those_. He believed her because he just needed to. Gibby still wasn't allowed in the house when Spencer was gone and her curfew was tighter than ever.

He just tried to stay cool, connected, but aloof. But it was way easier said than done. It was a one-day-at-a-time thing, being there for his growing-up sister. By her senior year, he could barely plan a full week ahead of time. He could see a lot of it had to do with the kind of girl he taught her to be. Her confidence and ideals seemed to butt heads with a lot of people, to cause jealousy and betrayals and the like.

Her life right now was like sensitive explosives that could blow at any small impact and then no matter what he was hoping to accomplish, no matter who he'd been planning to go camping with, he had to cancel and help her deal with these things no one could change. Things like losing friends because they had grown too far apart as they discovered themselves; things like loving a boy so much she couldn't breathe and he wasn't interested in her anymore. Things like not having a mom when she needed one the most.

Starved for a crowd of people his own age, he began to crave the spice of Socko and her intense friends. But those wild weekends were fewer and farther between these days. Socko was involved in a project to build schools in Africa. He got emails full of pictures but no camping trips.

Then the morning he turned thirty, he woke up and found he already had a voicemail waiting for him.

"HAP-PEE BIRTH-DAAY BUDDY-BUDDY-BUDDY!"

Spencer listened to the rest of the message and then got out of bed. He was still grinning an hour later as he emerged from the hallway into the living room.

Carly was crying. Who knew why any more. Spencer sighed.

"What's wrong?"

Sam's answer was five or six carefully chosen words full of venom. Freddie clarified by launching into a detailed story full of drama, love, hate, and confusion. Spencer had heard it all before with the names in different places and gave his same answers because they were the only ones he had. The only ones anyone had.

"Sorry kiddo. Hang in there. It'll all work out," he said sympathetically, trying to make the words sound brand new, but they just sounded bored and distracted. Freddie looked around, saw that Spencer was holding his helmet and keys.

"Are you going somewhere?" Freddie asked.

Spencer hesitated. "Well, my buddy Socko just got back from Madagascar and he's throwing me a big three-day-late birthday barbeque at the camp grounds, and I was going to meet him at the airport but..."

The joke came so naturally now that Spencer didn't even have to think before referring to his buddy Socko as a man in front of Carly. Carly sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Spencer, I'm okay. You don't have to stay. It's your birthday weekend, go have fun."

She didn't look okay. Spencer started to protest. "Yeah but you're—"

"Please!" Carly said. "Don't make me feel worse for ruining your plans."

"We'll take care of her." Sam promised. Freddie nodded.

Spencer couldn't resist his chance to have fun since forever. He cheered and had the door open before guilt made him pause. He looked back at Carly.

"You sure?"

"GET OUTTA HERE! I can take care of myself."

He smiled. "Proud of you, kiddo! Later!"

It was actually a beautifully sunny day. Spencer let up on the throttle and wove through the traffic outside of the airport, looking for bell pepper red hair. When that failed him, he leaned low and checked out the legs, looking for knee high socks. Bingo.

And wow.

He laughed outright as he parked and pulled off his helmet.

"HI!" she called happily. She was wearing shorts and a loose comfortable white t-shirt, golden bangles on her wrists and socks with stripes that flashed one after the other, like running Christmas lights, bouncing from her knees to her favorite red sneakers. But those weren't what drew the double-takes from passersby.

"YOU SHAVED YOUR HEAD?" he shouted hopping off the bike.

"ONLY PART OF IT!" she yelled back, twisting and turning so that he could see all angles. Exactly half her head was buzz-cut. The other half was bleached blonde, highlighted with purple and black and twisted into a braid that rested on her shoulder.

Spencer's eyebrows were bunched together as he took in this new style, and his lips stretched further and further into a smile when he perceived the tattoo the no-hair revealed. It was another star like the ones falling down her arm. He wondered how many of those she really had and then she was hugging him and cackling loudly.

He hugged back. She took a deep breath and stepped back to look around. "Oh it's so great to be home! I can't believe how much I missed this place!"

He really couldn't believe how much he'd missed her.

"How was it?" he asked.

"HOT but _amazing_! Oh I wish you could have come with us, you won't believe some of the stories!"

"Can't wait to hear 'em," he said, taking her bag.

"You cut your hair!" she cried, reaching up and yanking one of his short locks that stuck out in all directions from the helmet.

He chortled. "YEAH! I got a funny story about that but you HAVE to tell me about Africa and the school and all of that first."

"You don't really want to hear the details," she said, speaking from years of experience trying to share only to find that his eyes had glazed over.

He shrugged, still smiling. "Sure I do."

Those bright blue eyes looked up at him through thick eyelashes, her eyelids lowered in speculation. Spencer suddenly realized something and looked away, licked his lips. The potentially awkward moment was dashed away when she flashed perfectly white teeth, twirled over to the bike and crammed the spare helmet onto her head. "Let's go! Your party's starting without us!"

"YEAHEH!" he shouted, forgetting the weirdness that had just happened. He pumped a fist and hopped on in front of her. When she wrapped her arms around him he remembered that thing again and felt butterflies in his stomach as they roared away.

...

Camping.

Socko and her eclectic group of friends had a place. Spencer had no idea who owned it, and if the owner was aware that masses often flocked there for long weekends, weddings, and the occasional may pole, but it was beautiful and secluded, and always full of people.

Her people.

Jeeps only made it so far into the wilderness. Where the dirt road ended, the walking trail began. It was a ten minute hike through a twisty green trail. The path was extremely well-worn. There were tire tracks from four wheelers and golf carts, and the occasional gurney or two. It was an easy walk, no big hills, no rocks, just trees on either side, and the occasional sound of a stream or distant waterfall.

Walking down it, Spencer always felt like he was leaving civilization behind with every step. Yet suddenly around a bend there would be a tent and outside it any number of surprising things; a grill, a TV, a cloths line, a drum circle complete with girl-dancing inside.

Socko greeted a lizard man warmly as they went by; Spencer gave a smile, but tried not to make eye contact. He and Socko tried to keep going but what ended up happening was that Spencer got ahead and Socko kept lagging behind, with just one more thing to say.

As she fell into a conversation about the living conditions in Africa, Spencer was forced to stop—he was safe, too far away to be included in the conversation. He waited patiently with his hands in his coat pockets. Under the thick foliage of the forest, Socko's socks were casting reddish light around her in a pulsing spotlight around her feet. He watched the alternating colors, and lost track of Socko's conversation as he noticed the curve of her calf under the sock.

She had strong calves. He'd never noticed before. Maybe it was a new thing. Maybe she walked everywhere she went in Africa. He would have to ask. He realized he was staring at her legs.

Lizard guy now had a baby on his hip and a lady lizard beside him. They were talking about Socko's flight.

He drew in a deep breath and turned to study the scenery. Birds called shrilly from the abundant foliage around them. River rapids roared nearby. Aside from the blue tent of the lizard family, he saw no other signs of people, but he could hear them. A distant girl was giggling and shrieking wildly with the baritones of a man supporting her high voice with his own deep gutted laugh.

"Sorry," Socko breathed, suddenly at his side. She slipped and arm around his, golden bangles jangling. They were walking again.

"No problem."

"So what's been going on in your life?" She asked, giving his arm a squeeze.

"The usual," he said with a shrug, then he cried, "GAH! I can't believe how much I've missed you!" as he squeezed her arm in return.

She laughed as his voice reverberated through the trees around them. "You nut."

"I'm the nut?" Spencer laughed, "I'm the nut? YOU TATTOOED YOUR HEAD!" He stopped and ran a hand over that side of her head.

"Aha," she laughed, "I was wondering when you'd mention it!"

Buzz-cut hair had that always-surprising delightful feeling under his palm, like velvet. He rubbed it a couple of times, a goofy grin on his lips, as she said, "It hurt like hell, but I love it—it's my favorite one."

Spencer scoffed, "Of course you love it the most, if it hurt the most."

Socko laughed, one low gaffaw. A moment passed in silence.

Seriously, the feel of a buzzed scalp was so _interesting_. Spencer couldn't get enough of it—he vaguely recalled rubbing his dad's head when he was a small boy. Other than that, he hadn't spent a lot of time rubbing shaved heads, though he'd known plenty of guys with the style. It just wasn't something a guy did to other guys.

It felt so awesome, Spencer kind of wondered why.

Socko broke the momentary silence with, "You gonna rub my head all day?"

"Maybe," he replied and he surprised himself with that playfully low and smooth tone he used with the ladies—ha!—but wait…

Socko _was_ a lady. Well, she had the lady-parts anyway; her personality wasn't exactly like the princesses he hunted for—she was his wing man for Pete's sake, faithfully backing up whatever bogus story he came up with to snare a giggly blonde or a shy brunette. She was practically just another guy like Tyler, always blunt and curious about his conquests (which he was only ever too happy to brag about to bask in praise.) Yet here he was, unable to get the shape of her legs out of his head.

His hand was still on her head but not moving, his palm and splayed fingers covering the big star there as they warmed that side of her scalp. Her ear, left bare with no hair to hide in, had a lady bug on it. He brushed it off.

"Gotta girl?" she asked suddenly.

"Not on me," Spencer replied in that same smooth tone, one side of his mouth quirked up.

"Haha, _yet_." Socko said, going to her toes and putting her face so close to his to say it that he smelled peppermint tea on her breath. A moment later she was back in her space and he in his and they were walking in step down the path, laughing.

Someone had strung up white Christmas lights through the trees. The light they emitted was enough to see the paths in the night. Tiki torches or lanterns, or fire pits lit the rest of the sprawling camp yards.

The smell of grilled hot dogs filled the air, mingling with the natural forest-y smells of dirt and fresh water rapids as well as smokes of the wood, cigarette, and weed varieties. A live band was picking away furiously at an assortment of string instruments. There were some hand drums and someone had a flute and was playing it very well.

Spencer was having a blast. It had been far too long since he'd had his dose of her world. "Don't ever run off to Africa again."

They were sitting on a log around a fire. Children were roasting weenies and adults were doing a dramatic poetry reading. Socko sighed, rolling her eyes and giving him a playful shove, nearly knocking him from the log. "You know you are welcome here without an invitation from me!"

"Yeah, but I don't know half these people as well as I know you."

"That's because you never see them without me!"

"Well they aren't as much fun without you," he said, lowly, of course, so as not to offend. There was a beefy guy nearby and he scared Spencer a little bit. To be heard over the intense dramatic shouts of the poetry reading, he'd had to lean out of his personal space bubble and into hers for a visit to say it.

Now he didn't want to go back.

The firelight was doing something awesome with her eyes and turning her skin all sherbet-y on her shaved side and full of shifting shadows of darkest purple on her other side. Her braid there had purple on it. He liked purple.

"I haven't given you your present yet," she said.

"This is my present," he said, meaning the whole party but then he found that he meant just being with her, close to her, like this.

She stood suddenly. He stood, too. She was calling for someone to bring her "the thing" and he was wandering what in the hell had just happened. Someone that Spencer actually liked a lot, a guy called Rocky who maybe liked rock climbing a little too much but who was smart and nice, arrived with a big flat box.

"It's real African wood," Socko said, "This here is Swahili. It's a prayer—a birthday prayer, actually. It's for sketch pads, and drawing things."

"Whoa. It's beautiful," he said, taking it and eyeing the carving of the foreign words. He spotted his name in there and smiled—it was still Spencer, even in Swahili. How cool! He put it under one arm.

"Thanks," he said and without putting much thought into it, but with twice as much confidence and smoothness, he stepped forward on one foot, put a hand on her lower back to pull her in, and kissed her.

Suddenly a noise, which had through the whole of the last five minutes been persistently growing louder and fiercer—a human voice sprouting intense emotional words—ended abruptly. Applause broke out for the grand finish of the poetry reading. Spencer kept kissing Socko, oblivious. Then the box wasn't under his arm anymore—Rocky had taken it off his hands for him. He was cool like that.

She kissed him back, her arms snaking under his to wrap around his body to form a kissing hug, the regular hug's much sexier cousin and Spencer's favorite. When they resurfaced for air, they were both breathless and amazed.

"Awesome," Spencer breathed.

"Yeah," Socko said and then her mouth was covering his.

He could have kissed her in the Christmas lit woods all night. When the first fat drops of rain hit their heads, their string of deep kisses broke. Rain. Spencer had been here enough to know what that meant. Suddenly, the whole camp was moving as everyone began getting anything of value into a safe dry place.

Spencer realized the time, pulled out his cell phone, and dialed Carly's number.

"_Hola, mi amigo_," Freddie answered.

"Fred, where's Carls?"

"In the shower," he said, and Spencer smiled. He heard it in the boy's tone. She'd been in there for a while.

"Okay, well, tell her to call me when she gets out," he said. "It's raining so I'm just going to camp out here and come home in the morning."

"_Ah, bueno_," Freddie said, "I'll tell her."

"Thanks,"

He hung up, shoved his phone into his pocket, spied someone who needed help, and dashed forward to help untangle the generator cords from the underbrush. The rain was getting stronger, and the density of the forest wouldn't protect them much longer.

After helping with the electric wires, he helped someone move in a reclining chair, someone else to erect a tent, and had just helped gather up a scattering of cardboard and paper that had been in the process of becoming picket signs, when the rain was finally hard enough to start soaking through his jacket.

He dunked against the rain as he sprinted down the sodden paths to what he thought of as the corner of Rock Face and Downhill. Socko's tent, which flashed with squiggly lights, was set up in front of a rocky crag at the top of a hill that led down to a swimming hole. She was already inside, brushing raindrops from her shaved side.

He dunked low to slip into the tent, folded his long legs up and sneakers squeaked on the tent floor. She zipped it up behind him. The squiggly lights outside the tent cast little squiggly lights down on everything inside it. The lights on Socko's socks were still bouncing up and down her legs, lighting up half the tent.

"Stuck here, I guess," she said, turning from the door. She was still standing, hunched over.

Spencer said nothing in reply, just sat smiling at her remembering all the kissing. She sat down beside him. Butterflies were back in Spencer's stomach and he was remembering that thing again, the thing that he'd remembered in the airport; _it's been awhile._

They sat smiling in silence for neither knew how long. Then he kissed her.

Her skin was smooth as he pushed his hands under her shirt, slid up her back to pull it over her head. She broke his impassioned kiss to recline herself onto her sleeping bag. He followed, unable to keep his lips too far from hers. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth in a smile as she wiggled out of her shorts. He found another starfall that began between her breasts and disappeared beneath the hem of black cotton underwear.

He told himself it was the cold rain seeped into his coat that was making him shiver, but the coat was gone now, and between the two of them, nearly everything but her socks were gone, too. The squiggly lights raced over all of her bare skin, and he chased them with his lips.

She was pushing his t-shirt up and he was holding his gut in, making plans to keep it held in the whole time when—

_Burrrring! Burrrring!_

His phone vibrated as it rang from his coat pocket in the corner. He could not freaking believe it. He groaned. Laughing, she reached for it and handed it to him. He would have ignored it, but it was Carly. He drew a deep breath, tried his best to find a calm place where he might sound normal.

"Yep?" he answered.

"Hey," It was Carly. "Freddie said you're staying the night there?"

He glanced down at Socko reclined beneath him without a shirt and answered, "Yeah, something came up." he laughed, unable to stop himself, "It's raining, I came here on my bike, and you know how bad the roads can get on the way up here."

"No I don't, I've never been there,"

"It's a figure of speech, Carls," Spencer said, "The roads are bad."

She laughed and he asked, "So, is the crisis over?'

Socko was walking her fingers up his stomach, sliding them back down, and walking them back up as Carly sighed heavily on the other end of the line, "For now."

"I'm sorry I'm not there." He said batting Socko's hands away. He mouthed _stop it!_ but she just started touching other things.

"It's fine." Carly said.

He somehow managed to grab both Socko's hands, holding a knot of all ten of her fingers in just five of his.

"Okay, well, I gotta go." Spencer said as he pinned Socko's hands to the ground above her head. "Lock the door, don't let anybody stay over—_including Sam_—and I'll be home in the morning."

"Okay, love you."

"Love you, kiddo." He hung up and tossed the phone away, pointed down at Socko, "Are you trying to kill me?"

She laughed, her fingers slipping under the elastic hem of his boxers, "No, that part comes at the end."

Spencer's laugh and cry of "OH YEAHEH!" was loud enough for the neighboring tents to now be in on the events of the night, especially with Socko's wild laughter to follow it, but neither cared.

Spencer had shared a sleeping bag with ladies before. After all, camping was the only time he ever got to, as Dad put it, "live the bachelor life" since he made it a point to never bring girls over to the apartment for the night.

But this time was different.

It wasn't the socks, either; no, one or two of the other girls had been big fans of Socko's socks, so their glow wasn't what made things different. It was the girl who made the socks. He knew much more about her than her name and life's ambition, which was a vast improvement from the others. So maybe that was why they fit and moved and strained together so well.

He knew what she liked in the world, which made it easy to guess what she liked in a sleeping bag and she was right when she guessed what he liked, and afterward, Spencer was exhausted, but far too happy to really notice.

He dropped off to sleep with the sound of rain on the tent canvas and Socko's breathing beside him, against him, tickling over his chest. He didn't dream. Spencer usually considered a night without a dream a disappointment, but not this time; no dream could have outmatched reality tonight.

He woke to twittering sounds of morning birds. For a split second, he didn't know where he was, and it was a surprise to find a whole lot of lady-skin mashed up against him. All at once his belated birthday barbeque rushed back at him, and he thanked Jesus, Yaweh, and Buddah for the rain.

Socko's tattooed arm was draped over his chest like a quilt would be. He studied the design of stars there, each one just like the one on her head, and he smiled at the memory of finding all the others. She had lots more. He couldn't think of ever having had more fun than that.

It was several minutes before the rest of the world came back to him. He sighed. He had to go home and check on Carly. He peeled away from Socko and dressed. He was tying up his shoes when she woke.

He crawled over her, supported himself above her with that turtle smile back. "Morning star shine," he said.

"Morning," she slurred, eyes still foggy. He kissed her long and sweetly. "I gotta go."

She stuck out a lower lip, her eyes fluttering shut. She must have been exhausted, doing what she did for him after a flight back from Africa. That was stamina, no wonder she was so skinny.

He kissed the puckered lip, "Get some rest. Call me later."

"Bye, bye," she sighed, eyes still closed. A moment later she was asleep again. He had a ridiculously big smile on his face as he pulled on his coat, found his phone, and unzipped the tent flap.

Outside was fresh and bright and Spencer was sure there were new things added to the world. He'd never seen that shade of green before—and what kind of bird was that with the pretty sounding melody?

He found Rocky, who returned his box to him with a knowing smile and wink. Rocky walked with him back down the path to his motorcycle, trying to winkle out some details, but it was all much too new and awesome for Spencer to be ready to share. Rocky clapped him on the back as he tied his box to his bike. "I congratulate you, sir. She's a hellova a lot of woman."

Spencer found he knew exactly what he meant. He laughed and was instantly afraid it might have been a girly sounding laugh, but then he decided he didn't care. He swung a leg over his bike, said goodbye to Rocky, and kicked it into life. The roar of the engine filled the serene forest around the dirt road. He lingered a moment after buckling on his helmet, to look back down the trail where Rocky had disappeared. He thought of Socko, her white, black and purple hair splayed out around one side of her head.

His whole world was changed now.

He pulled the clutch, twisted the gas and headed home.

...

The apartment was quiet. It was seven in the morning on a Saturday. Spencer went straight up to Carly's room and looked in on her, as he used to do every morning when she first moved in with him—a kind of reassurance that nothing went horribly wrong with her in the night under his care.

Then he took a shower and then dug a sketch pad and pencils out of his closet. He was starting the shading when Carly slumped down stairs.

"You're back,"

"Hey kiddo,"

"Have fun?"

"Tons," he laughed. She stopped, frowned at him.

"You're sketching."

"So?"

He looked up. She was standing beside the counter, smiling at him. Her hair was mussed from sleep and she was still in her pajamas. She held a glass of carrot juice.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing. You just look all _smiley_," she said and her tone was a little too all-knowing. She was eighteen now, old enough to catch on to why he went camping at all.

He blushed and went back to his sketch. She laughed and headed back upstairs.

_AN: I don't know what I like better, Spencer managing to sound so casual on the phone with Carly while in a sleeping bag with someone, or this brother/sister conversation on the matter...eh, who am i kidding, Spencer in a sleeping bag FTW :) What do you think_


	3. Chapter 3

**3. I Don't Know What's Going On Here…But I think I Like It.**

Back in the campgrounds, the forest slowly came to life as new campers woke each hour. Music started up around noon. Children ran shrieking past Socko's tent to swim in the water below. The smell of BBQ filled the air once more and the party weekend returned full blast.

It didn't matter that the birthday man was no longer present, that wasn't how these parties operated. Most of the campers thought it was a shindig for the female artist Shay and the rest weren't even aware it was a birthday party. Socko threw so many of these things so often one had to ask the host what the occasion was. No one did, because she was still out cold, sleeping off her jet lag.

After nearly twenty hours of solid sleep, she woke to the sounds of the tent's zipper. The cold morning air on her bare back reminded her that she wasn't clothed, and the reasons came back to her like a dream all out of order and too wonderful to believe. She took a deep breath, breathing in the smell of her sleeping bag and the tarp floor, and moaned happily as she released it.

Moving for the first time in a day, she felt the pains of sleeping for so long on the ground, but that only made her moan and whine more as she stretched and yawned. Someone laughed.

"Have a good night?" that was Rocky.

Socko suddenly hitched the sleeping bag up to her chin and sat up.

Rocky's laugh cut off and for a minute the two friends looked at each other with wide eyes. Socko's heart was pounding like she'd been caught doing something off-limits, and she wondered why she was covering herself in front of Rocky like he hadn't seen everything before. Like it wasn't hers to show off anymore.

"So, should have knocked, I guess." he said awkwardly.

She shook her head and laughed. Her head felt lopsided with the weight of her tangled hair. "No, no! You just scared me is all!" She could remember it now, Spencer creeping out of the tent with instructions to call him later.

Socko rubbed her eyes. "What time is it?"

"9 and it's Sunday."

"Sunday?"

"Yup. Your café opens in an hour. You need a ride?"

"Um…" she looked around the tent. It was full of the sleeping bag and her clothes. No sign of anyone else. This thought distracted her and she forgot what she was figuring out. "What?"

Rocky laughed. "Do. You. Need. A. Ride? Nora and me are headed down."

"Oh," she laughed, embarrassed. "Yeah, sure. Just give me a minute?"

Rocky nodded, then shook his head as he climbed out of the tent. "He did a number on you didn't he?"

Socko threw her shoe at Rocky's retreating backside.

Rocky's car was a lack-luster red, small and falling apart. It rattled as they flew down the mountain road, looking through three cracks in the windshield that originated from a dime-sized knick in the dead center. Socko remembered putting it there with one of the metal links in Rocky's climbing gear after a very public break-up over a year ago. He didn't spend money on anything but the kind of gear that would get him up and over Mount Rushmore.

Nora was a young flautist, responsible for the beautiful flute sounds that had drifted through the camp grounds over the weekend. She'd given Socko the front seat and leaned forward to rest her chin on her new husband's shoulder while they listened as Socko talked about Africa all the way to civilization.

Socko's landline was ringing when she walked in the door. Her roommate/business partner was already at the café. She let the phone ring as she tossed her bags into the laundry pile in the far corner and greeted the black cat slinking along the back of the couch. On the fourth ring, the answering machine picked it up.

"HEY Socks, it's me!" Spencer's exuberant voice cried out. "Don't know if you're home yet, but—"

Her hand shot out as all the breath whooshed out of her. Feeling like a school girl, she pressed the receiver to her ear but took a moment before answering to make sure she sounded casual. "Hey, just walked in the door!"

"SOCKO!" he shouted. "Hi!"

"Hi!"

There was a pause in which Socko swung her hips back and forth and played with a purple streak in her hair and Spencer's end of the line was oddly silent. Then he laughed. "So you want to hang out today or what?"

She grinned and bit her lip—realized she was twirling her hair and dancing in place and stopped. "Yeah, I'll be at the café in an hour. Let me shower."

He chuckled warmly and his lady-killer tone was back, "Later."

She giggled, hung up and stood staring at the number on the ID screen. Then she saw that the cat was staring at her. "What?"

It slinked off, bored.

Socko jumped in the shower singing her favorite song loudly with her eyes closed and was at work in under an hour. Her business partner, Plum, was happy to see her skip through the door and wanted to hear about Africa, but Socko was bursting at the seams and had to tell somebody something.

"Plum."

"What?"

"You know Shay?"

Before Socko could bring herself to say another word, Spencer pushed through the door in a clean t-shirt that said Butter Me Queasy. He looked first at all the tables before spotting her behind the counter. He grinned as he sauntered up and spread his palms across the broken earth mosaic there. "Hi there."

"Hi," she said. Plum's eyes widened and she became busy elsewhere with a wink that made Socko feel suddenly very nervous.

Spencer leaned forward and planted a soft wet kiss square on her lips, one of his hands catching her elbow and running down to her fingers. He gave all four of them a squeeze.

"Do you _have_ to work today?" he asked. It was a kind of sultry pout, and combined with the light brushes of his fingers on her arms and hands, it was a powerful incentive to answer no. But Socko had made promises.

"I really should, Plum needs a break."

"No I don't," Plum said from the farthest end of the counter where she was taking an order. Socko could have kissed her friend. Spencer cheered and did a little dance. "Awesome! THEN LET'S GO!"

Socko laughed. "Where?"

Spencer shrugged, adopting his turtle smile again.

They had lots of stuff they usually did together on non-camping weekends—rooting through the junk yards, trying out new restaurants and haunting their favorites, and stopping by to see one person or another in the midst of some great Statement. For those visits, Spencer usually spent his time looking through whatever antique or thrift store they happened to be standing in until Socko was finished making plans, then it was off to a museum or something. But now none of that stuff sounded as interesting anymore.

They were straddling his bike, trying to figure it out. Both would present a new idea half-heartedly and whether or not it sounded like fun, the other responded more to the tone than the suggestion. Neither really wanted to do anything but the one thing they weren't saying.

Socko said it first. After Spencer shot down her suggestion to check out the rehearsals of a friend's play, she sighed and wrapped her arms around his body, resting her chin on his shoulder, against his long neck. "I guess it's my place then," she whispered.

Spencer's usual shout of excitement was inverted and left his gut feeling a little bruised from the impact. She could feel that he was a little breathless and his smile quivered, threatening to break into a bigger one. It didn't because he was playing it cool, giving that turtle smile again. Socko giggled as they took off and it was like the butterflies in her stomach were startled into a frenzied cloud by the bike's roar.

Her apartment building didn't have an elevator. It was only four stories high, but she lived on the very top. They raced up the stairs.

When Spencer fell behind at the top of the fourth flight, holding a stich in his side and groaning, Socko doubled back to get him, laughing. She hooked an arm under his and pulled, but he didn't budge and she went down onto the incline of the stairs, laughing. He was tangled in her legs for a minute, flashing socks putting spots before his eyes, then she slid down to sit on the stairs he was sprawled over.

Oh God, that was a lot of steps. He couldn't breathe. He needed to work out more. Oh God!

Socko laced her fingers with his and waited patiently while he got things back under control, stroking his hair and trying not to laugh. She hadn't realized he was so out of shape—he'd been doing such a good job keeping up. It was a wonder he'd made it this far—her door was in sight—but then again, he hadn't been just running up the stairs for the hell of it. She was impressed by how far he'd push himself.

And amused by how hard he'd fallen upon reaching his limits.

He lay across several steps, his forehead resting on a forearm on a step. The wood of the stairs an inch from his nose smelled faintly of lemon, and he wondered what kind of cleaner the janitor used.

"Get. An. ELEVATOR!" he cried, lifting his head. He was still breathing heavily, but smiling. She gave him a kiss and helped him to his feet. He noticed for the first time how close her door had been.

"IMADE IT UP ALL FOUR FLIGHTS?" he asked, and his surprise was quickly lost in his pride. His panting was down to something he could manage through his nose. He stood with his feet planted further than shoulder width apart and he bounced on his toes.

"Yeah, you did well," Socko said.

"_Yeah_, I did!" he cried, extending a hand for a high five which she gave with a laugh but then he doubled over almost instantly, "Oh, stich! THE STITCH IS STILL THERE!"

She opened her door and, shouting that he had to lie down, he stumbled through, his tall frame doubled over in pain until he slumped onto her couch. She kicked the door closed behind them, tossed her keys into the bowl and crossed the room to him, pouting in pity for him,

"You poor out of shape man."

"Ahhh, _so_ out of shape!" he cried. He lay with his face all screwed up and his fingers pressing into his side. She leaned over him to flip on a switch for the lamps behind the couch and his arms snaked out and hooked her around the waist, pulling her down.

"Haha! Got you with the sick prisoner routine!" he cried, tickling her. She squealed and wrenched herself from his grip, hurried out of his reach—her lip between her teeth. He sprang to his feet and chased her.

They went around the couch, through the kitchen, over the couch and then he caught her in the hallway. She kissed him until he was pressed between her and the wall. They left a trail of clothes to her room. She stepped out of her shorts and he hoisted her legs up to wrap around his hips, loosing a low groan from deep in his chest as he did so. She hooked her ankles together behind his back, and a whimper escaped because she wanted so much for him carry her to her bed so that she could have her way with him.

He did not disappoint.

...

"Do you have a wok?" he asked.

"'s_cuse me_?" she asked, blue eyes wide as she drew blankets up to her chin in mock offense. Socko's room was lit by the light from her windows. She had a corner apartment, and windows in two walls of her bedroom. He laughed and under the sheet, his hand snaked around her thighs until he'd manage to pinch something soft. "You heard me."

"Yes, I have a wok," she squealed, dancing away from him on the mattress.

"Good," he sat up, and found his shorts. They had ducks on them. "Because I'm going to make us some chicken."

"That's right, he's an artist _and a chef_!" she cried in a southern belle accent, "Why, I couldn't be luckier if I was twins."

"Yeah, but _I_ would luckier if you were twins," he said waggling his eyebrows. This time she _was_ offended and she slammed a pillow into the back of his head. He apologized and fled in laughter before she could land any more blows.

Mouth-watering smells were coming out of his wok and Socko was in a robe and helping when Spencer's phone rang. He answered,

"Yeah?"

"Hey, Spence, could you build something for iCarly?"

"Of course, what do you need?"

"A set for a skit—a kind of mountain thing with a cave in it?"

"You need it by Friday?"

"I know its short notice," Carly said, then added, "What are you doing?"

"Hanging out with Socko," he replied with a wink to the practically naked lady dicing his carrots for him.

"Well, can you do it?"

"Sure, just needs some chicken wire and paper mache."

"Okay, thanks," she said.

He hung up the phone, moved the chicken around in the wok, and cut off the heat. He was distracted by some sweet kisses for a minute or two when the phone rang again.

"Yeah?" he answered, without even looking at the ID because he'd assumed it was Carly with more to say about her mountain.

"Spence?" said a voice far too deep to be Carly.

"Gib?" Spencer said, surprised. He had heard a lot about Gibby recently and his first instinct was to hang up on the betrayer. Socko sensed the sudden change in atmosphere and began dishing out helpings of the food onto some plates. She wouldn't bother him—she could tell something serious was happening.

"How goes it?" Gibby's low voice was gruff, soft, and sad.

"Um," Spencer said, "Good—but what's up, why are you calling me?"

"How's Carly?"

"She's been better," he said, "Heard things were happier on your end with what's her name."

"Not anymore,"

"Ah," Spencer didn't want to have anything to do with high school drama, but it involved Carly, whom he would do anything for, and Gibby, whom he had really liked. He found himself asking, "Do you miss her?"

"Yes."

"Well, Gib, you shouldn't have—"

"I know! I know! I didn't call for a lecture, I just want to know how she is."

"Why are you calling me, can't you ask her yourself?"

"Sam won't let me,"

"Well, that's probably for the best."

Gibby sighed and Spencer's heart went out for the little dude, but his loyalties remained with Carly.

"Sorry, Gib."

"Yeah. Later, Spence." Gibby hung up.

Spencer slid the phone away, jumped his eyebrows at Socko, "Sister drama," He said with a glance at the ceiling.

"Carly's dating now?" Socko asked, blue eyes wide, "how old is she?"

"Eighteen,"

"Oh my God, really? She'll be going to college soon."

"Yep," Spencer said with a proud smile.

"I remember when she was just a baby. Wow that makes me feel old!"

Spencer joined her at the table and picked up a piece of chicken with his fingers.

"You, my foxy friend, are far from old," he fed her the chicken and they shared the taste with a few kisses. She poked him in the belly. "You're pretty foxy too…"

She moved to his lap and propped her feet in her abandoned chair. He made a cradle with his arms and she fed him a few bites since he didn't have any free hands.

She stole every other bite. "_Mmmm_, I think this is the best home cooked food I've ever eaten."

"Have you had my spaghetti tocos?"

She shrugged. "Yeah."

Spencer was thrown—that wasn't the usual response to his culinary masterpiece. Then she smiled with cheeks full of chicken. "They weren't topped with Spencer kisses."

"Ah," he said, laying one on her and tasting the spices. "Yes, Spencer kisses are the world's finest garnish."

They were giggling and tickling each other in front of empty plates when Plum came home from work. The scrap of the key in the lock was their only warning. Socko had time to close her robe and Spencer was left to pretend he was wearing more than duckie boxers.

Plum was grinning but trying to act causal. "'Sup, guys?"

"Nothin' much!" Spencer answered a little loudly. Socko started putting the dishes in the sink. Spencer headed for the bedroom, taking the longer course so as to hide as much of his body as possible behind the counter and the couch and the lampshade until he was safely out of sight. He could hear the ladies giggling and whispering in the other room as he pulled on his jeans. He smiled. It was the good kind of giggling.

When he returned to the living room, he didn't miss the way Plum's dark eyes swept over him appraisingly, but she was in the middle of describing some sort of rally that had Socko in raptures.

"Anyway, it's at 7 and you have to make your own sign."

"Sure, sure!" Socko was saying as she wrapped her arms around Spencer the moment he was in reach. He gave her a squeeze, smiling down at her. She was so cute when she was planning this stuff.

"Are you coming with us?" Plum asked.

"Ah, I can't. I gotta go help Carly with a set for her webshow."

"Yeah, he's a working sculptur-er." Socko said proudly. Spencer felt his chest expand with pride and he kissed her shaved side. "Call you later."

"Good," she said as his long stride carried him to the front door. Before it closed behind him he heard her clap her hands and rub them together, excited to get to work.

"We got signs to make!"

He chortled and jogged happily down the stairs.

AN: is it some kind of writer's paranoia or can this chapter ending be stronger? And forgot to ask last chapter, what do you think about the Cibby development here?


	4. Chapter 4

**4. Yeah, I Knew You'd Giggle**

"Hey, why's Spencer so happy?" Sam asked as she sauntered into the studio, bratwurst speared at the end of her fork.

"What'd'ya mean?" Carly asked as she helped Freddie run a wire by expertly holding it in place while he worked the staple gun.

"I mean he's down there singing and giggling." Sam said with a flop onto a bean bag.

"Why didn't you bring me a bratwurst?" Freddie demanded. "I asked you to."

"I ate it on the way up, get over it." Sam said to Freddie's scowl then to her friend she said, "Now, waddup with Spence?"

"Oh," Carly laughed. "He's got a lady friend."

Sam huffed as if to say she didn't care. Freddie gave her a knowing smile, which she aimed the rest of her bratwurst at. He caught it. "Thanks, sweetie," and took a big bite.

She rolled her eyes, almost smiling. Carly took the whole exchange between her dating friends in stride and continued, "I don't know who she is, but I think he met her at the birthday party that Socko threw for him. He's been going '_to hang with Socko_' nearly every day this week. As if I'm not old enough to realize that he's never spent so much time with Socko before. It's like he would rather lie to me than tell me the truth. He's still treating me like a baby who doesn't understand—you know—" Carly had walked herself into an uncomfortable word place, "_That_ _stuff_." She finished and then she added sharply, "Well, I _do_ understand it—I watch the nature channel, darn it!"

"Have you told him he can tell you the truth?" Freddie asked with his infuriating insightfulness as Sam laughed.

"No," Carly said.

"Well, shouldn't you?"

Sam scoffed, "No! You wouldn't want your brother to tell you every time he's going to go butter someone, would you?" Sam asked.

"_Sam_," Freddie sighed as Carly pretended the drop of the crude word hadn't fazed her. She missed Gibby, who would have had a quip for Sam for using that kind of language.

"CAAAARRRRRRLEEEEEEE!" Spencer cried from down stairs.

Carly found Spencer in the living room. Her mountain was nearly finished, towering next to him, freshly painted. He was wiping his hands on a towel.

"What?"

"She's coming for dinner," he said, smiling ear to ear.

"Who?"

"My lady," he said, waggling his eyebrows. "I want you all to meet her!"

Carly, Sam, and Freddie made happy exclamations, Sam's sounding the least sincere. Freddie nudged her with an elbow, that knowing smile back, and she swatted at him, but he caught the half-hearted fist and kissed her knuckles. She jerked her hand back, almost smiling.

They helped set the table, Spencer undeniably excited. The doorbell rang and he started like a wild animal caught off guard, his legs spread far, half squatting. His shoes squeaked on the floor. "SHE'S HERE!" he cried.

Freddie was the first to get a look at the lady Spencer let in. "_Ay, los dios_!" he mumbled, eyes popping wide and jaw hitting the floor. Sam's gasp was half awe, half insult. Carly turned last.

Wow.

The woman Spencer had an arm around was in short-shorts and a tank top. The first thing she noticed were the _Socko's Socks_, which reached her thighs, and flashed with electric flowers. One arm was covered in tattoos, and—her head was shaved! And, was that another tattoo?

"Her head has a tattoo," Carly said lowly to Sam and Freddie.

"I see the head tattoo," Freddie said.

"Everybody, this is Socko." Spencer said, "Socks, this is my sister Carly and her friends Sam and Freddie."

The woman named Socko and addressed as "Socks" gave a wave and greeted them happily, crazy socks blinking. No one moved for a moment, eyes roving around the strange sight, and brains whirring.

"Socko?" Sam asked.

"Socko's a man," Freddie said, eyebrows low.

"Yeah!" Carly cried," Socko's a man! Tell them again, Freddie."

Spencer and Socko were laughing together—no, _giggling_ together.

"What're'ya, like, a dude down there?" Sam asked.

Socko laughed, surprisingly not taking offense, "No, I'm all—"

"Lady," Spencer interjected. "She's all lady. Trust me."

Freddie got over his shock first and came forward to shake her hand. Carly followed his lead. Sam only gave the guest a wave, and flopped down in a kitchen chair.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah—Let's eat!"

Over spaghetti tacos, Spencer explained about the running joke and had another good laugh over it. Carly had more or less grown up on stories about Socko, and every time one of them occurred to her, she couldn't stop herself from asking about it.

"Wait what about that time you missed curfew and dad reported his car stolen?"

Spencer propped his elbows on the table, a noodley taco ready to be devoured inches from his mouth. "What about it?"

"You said you and Socko were playing video games and fell asleep!" Carly said accusingly. All eyes turned to Socko. She put a hand in front of her full mouth as she laughed at the memory.

Sam and Freddie shared a smirk. It was a story Spencer told often, every time Freddie or Sam complained about getting grounded for missing curfew. It started with 'just be thankful their not as strict as _my_ Dad…' The enlightening information that Socko was a girl just made the whole story one heck of a flimsy excuse.

"You 'fell asleep'?" Sam asked with a quirk in the corner of her mouth. She was looking over her taco at Spencer with stars in her eyes. Carly didn't know if it was amusement at the pathetic lie or the thought of a teenage Spencer doing something bad. She laughed and swung a finger around to indicate herself and the others. "You expect _us_ to believe that?"

"Yeah," Spencer said. "That's really what happened."

Socko caught Freddie's eye and winked. Freddie's eyebrows rose.

Spencer had a hard time swallowing thanks to his chuckles. When he had a clear windpipe, he said, "We were just friends up until last week."

"What changed?"

Spencer and Socko looked at each other with special smiles. Freddie and Sam smiled at each other and he took her hand. Carly stuffed some noodles back into her corn-shell and missed Gibby again.

Dad called that night. Carly snatched the phone from Spencer when it was her turn to talk to him.

"Dad! Socko is a woman!"

"Socko?" Her father's deep voice echoed and then he chuckled, "Yeah, I know that. You didn't?"

"No."

"Well making pretty socks isn't a _man's_ job, sweetheart. Why'd'ya think she was a man?"

"Ask Spencer," Carly said with a glance into the living room. He was trying to get her mountain into the elevator to take up stairs. Her dad chuckled, "King of pranks. Enough about him—tell me about you. Gotta fella?"

With a pang, Carly thought of Gibby. Swallowing hard, she put on a smile that she hoped would be in her voice and said, "No, I'm enjoying being young and hot and single."

"You are so much like your mother," Dad chuckled. Then, without any more prompting from Carly, he launched into a story about the mother she had never gotten to know. Carly grabbed some carrots and canned whipped cream and headed upstairs to listen.

_AN: Little bit of The Colonel there, we'll see more of him later. So yeah...took a moment to see Spencer's life as the kids know it, put things in that perspective and flesh out a little more of the Cibby and Seddie action. What did you think about their reactions to Socko's true identity?_


	5. Chapter 5

**5. Nothing, I just got my hand in a chicken…. YEAH, it's dead.**

Spencer's conversation with his father on the phone had gone like this.

"Heh-low?" Spencer answered on the second ring, falling back onto the mountain he was attempting to move into the elevator.

"Spence!" a deep voice cried, "How are you doing, son?"

"Dad!" Spencer sprang upright, "I'm doing GREAT! How are you?"

"I'm doing well! You sound really happy."

"Hmmmm, thhhhaattt's because I am, Dad." Spencer replied in a special tone. On the other end of the line, Spencer could practically hear his father perk up and wag his eyebrows as he asked,

"Oh, yeah? Care to tell me her name?"

Spencer giggled at the sheer thought of her and answered, "You already know it—It's Socko!"

Colonel Shay gave a sharp intake of breath,

"IsthatthegirlwiththesocksI'venevermetbutthatI'vebeenhearingaboutforFIFTEEN YEARS NOW?"

"That's the one!"

"WAY TO GO, SON!" The Colonel shouted. "I can't wait to meet her!"

"You're coming ashore?"

"In two months," the Colonel said, "Mark your calendar and prepare your Socks to meet Grandad, because you're taking her with you for your visit."

"Dad, that's awesome!" Spencer cried and then he drew in a deep breath to call for Carly.

"CARRRRRRLEEEEEEE!"

As she bounced down the stairs, the Colonel said hastily, "Don't tell her, I want to tell her myself."

"Okay," Spencer said, somewhat deflated. He liked giving Carly happy news. "Love you, Dad. Here's Carly."

"Love you," the Colonel said, and then Carly had the phone, and she was shrilling something about Socko being a woman as she went into the kitchen.

Now Spencer was dragging Carly's mountain through her studio, and planning on how to tell Socko that she was going to have to meet his Dad and Granddad in two months. Dad sounded accepting of her for now—well, that was just because he hadn't exactly ever gotten an eyeful of her before.

And Granddad was going to be a problem all by himself. Unlike the Colonel, when Granddad didn't like or agree with something, he flat said so… That could make things ugly. Not that it mattered what either of them had to say about his lady. In fact, they could bring it on, _nothing_ they could say would make him stop seeing her. If he could quit law school in defiance of Dad and Granddad, he could date in defiance to them, too.

Despite his worries, he was excited to be with his Dad again soon. For all his rough edges, the colonel was a loving father and could be a goof when put in the mood to be, and Spencer often missed him with a dull pang in his chest.

...

The day was clear and sunny for once, making it a hot day in the junkyard. Piles and piles of junk towered all around leaving dirt paths only wide enough for trucks to go through. Spencer stood with his hands in the pockets of his green fatigue jacket and Socko was beside him. Standing in front of them was Neil, the Junk Man, who was looking a lot like a Lumberjack Santa Claus these days with his white beard and overalls.

"I can give ya the whole thing," Neil was saying of a barrel full of old CDs, "but it'll double the price."

Spencer gapped, "Neil! C'mon! I _need_ them for my latest sculpture—I can't afford that! There's gotta be something you can do—I'm your most valued customer!"

Neil glared at Spencer, then his little blue eyes looked over at Socko, flitted down to her socks and back up. She gave him a smile. He looked at Spencer, and the way Socko was holding his arm. He softened instantly. Spencer gave a silent cheer of triumph, young love was a weak spot for old Neil.

"Okay, okay, okay," the man was saying, rubbing his beard, "You can have the whole thing for your price—but just this once, okay?"

Spencer pumped the air with his fist as Socko cheered and then thanked Neil warmly. They loaded the barrel onto Spencer's wagon and tied it down.

"So, what do you say?" Socko asked picking up a conversation they had been having as if it had never been broken by the discovery of the CDs.

"It sounds like a good cause," Spencer said. Socko had been prattling on and on about another Statement that she was arranging to be made.

"And it'll be so much fun! You've never lived until you've laid in front of an oncoming bulldozer before, Shay. Oh! And we could share a pair of hand cuffs so we'll be together all night." She wiggled for him. She was on the ground in a low cut shirt, and he was standing up in his wagon, so he got a good view.

He laughed, jumped down from the wagon. "Actually, I can't make it."

Socko frowned, "What? Why not? It's this weekend, you don't have any plans."

"I have Carly."

"She's eighteen."

"I know but…" Spencer's voice trailed off. The silence that followed demanded he keep going. Socko's eyes were on him, and she wasn't smiling. She looked confused and… hurt. He cleared his throat, "Um, to be honest, I don't really care-not enough to lay outside in the cold hand cuffed to a forest and a crowd of strangers all night." He added quickly, "I love that you care about this stuff, it's just not the kind of thing I care for. I do care for you, though!"

"So come," Socko said. Spencer drew a deep breath, said nothing.

"You never come with me to these things," Socko said, "You always have some excuse, and I let it go. But this time you don't have one. Why won't you come?"

"I _do_ have an excuse," Spencer said, meeting her eye, "I _can't_ go."

She scoffed and started walking, "Because of Carly?"

"Yeah, she might need me!" Spencer said, pulling his wagon behind him as he hurried to catch up. The stupid barrel was heavier than he expected. "I don't want to be gone for three days!"

"You leave her for camping all the time!" Socko called over her shoulder.

"That's two days, and I see her in the morning of the first and the night of the second." Spencer said, abandoning the stupid wagon and the stupid CDs to catch his girlfriend, "If I do this thing, I wouldn't see her for three _whole_ days!"

He caught her by the starfall tattoo and turned her to face him, and she laughed bitterly as he did so.

"I'm sure you'd both survive," it was the first since she got back from Africa that he heard sarcasm from her—and certainly the first time ever that he heard that much venom.

"It's not like that," Spencer said, eyebrows low and stomach sinking. "It's a promise I made. I. Am. _Always._ Going to be there for her. Period."

Socko looked to the sky, "She can call you if by some freak occurrence she needs you so badly!"

"And I'll be cuffed to a tree and a hundred people, unable to go to her!" Spencer shot back. "I'm not going. I'm sorry, Socks, really, but I'm Carly's brother first. I'm all she has."

"Plus you don't give a chiz about mountain top removal."

"That, too," Spencer said, and it was the first time she was ever hearing venom from him. She glowered at him, turned and charged away.

Spencer turned back to his wagon, grumbling. He kicked the wheel, hurt his foot, grabbed up the handle, and headed home.

It was raining by the time he got there.

Spencer spent the next week sculpting his feelings and hiding frustrated tears from Carly and her friends, while Socko spent it planning for the Statement and then sitting on the cold ground in the rain chained to some guy named Bettie who had a beard down to his belt and who smelled like peanut brittle. She put all of her focus on the Statement to be made, and didn't give herself a moment to be as miserable as she really was.

Spencer woke on Monday morning to realize that Socko would have been back in town by last night and, upon seeing that his phone had no messages, realized that he didn't feel like getting out of bed. Meanwhile, Socko was finally home and taking a much-needed shower when she realized that the only anger left in her was the wispy threads of the principle of the thing, which didn't really hold up to how much she wanted to feel his arms arm her, squeezing her, as she smelled the still-wet paint on his t-shirt.

This last miserable week had been the first she spent without him since she came back from Africa three weeks ago. Two weeks with him. Was that all? It felt like so much longer. She dried off, put on some clothes—she felt like wearing all black—braided one side of her head, and headed for work.

It wasn't like it had been a real relationship, anyway. Just two weeks, and neither of them had ever said anything on the matter. It had only been….well, she wasn't quite sure. This realization made her stop.

She had been thinking of it as nothing more than what her other flings had been, friends having fun, enjoying life, being free together… but if that was true, why did it feel like it wasn't over?

Whatever it was, it wasn't easily broken, she realized-then with a jolt, Or was it? She hadn't heard from him _in seven days_. She hadn't tried to call him, nor he her from the lack of messages on her machine. What did that mean?

It was a slow day in the café. If the customers noticed that she was being oddly quiet and downcast, they didn't say anything. Rocky came in, with news that he and Nora were going to have a baby. She mustered up all the excitement that she could for her friends, and promised she'd be at the camp grounds for the weekend party they were throwing in honor of the new parents-to-be.

She tried her best to look forward to it.

She was clearing a table of scone crumbs and coffee mug rings when the door opened. She turned to greet the customer and lost her breath. Spencer was standing there, coat shoulders darkened by the Seattle rain and droplets glistening in his short hair. He lifted one side of his mouth in a nervous smile. "Hey, Socks," he said, "I missed you."

If she had been planning on what to do or say the next time she saw him, she forgot all of it now. She dropped her towel, ran to him, cried, "I'm sorry!" and threw her arms around him. He squeezed her back so tightly she would have let him absorb her if she could. He kissed her in a way he'd only ever did in private before, and it felt like a lot longer than just two weeks again—this thing, whatever this thing was, between them.

Her feet touched the ground again as he released her, taking his lips back with a wet _smack_. He was smiling like a turtle. "Not mad at me anymore, then?"

"I missed you too much to be mad."

"I'm sorry," he said, "I should have told you earlier, maybe even years and years ago, that I don't care so much about your Statements."

Socko looked down, her principles flaring up for a moment—Geezuz, couldn't he even _try_ to care?—but he added, with a squeeze, "but I do care about you—a lot, Socks. _A lot_."

She let him go, nodding. "But, um," she crossed her arms, "How is it going to work? They may not matter to you, Shay, but I _love_ being a part of these things. Am I supposed to just leave you every time I want to make my voice heard? Some of these things are a lot longer than three days, you know."

Spencer smiled, "I'll be here every time you get back." He'd be like a soldier's husband, waiting as his wife went off to fight… It would give him time for Carly and his art.

Socko wouldn't allow herself to smile, though, because she was already foreseeing another problem. "Okay, so I get back, it's the middle of the week. Am I supposed to wait until the weekend when you can make it to the camp grounds?"

"No," Spencer scoffed. That was stupid. That might have been how he lived the bachelor's life before, but it was hardly the way to maintain a real relationship.

"Okay, so you'll come stay at my place," Socko said. Spencer finally caught up to her. He and Socko had been together only during the daytime in the two weeks after his birthday party, but that was the honeymoon phase. She was talking about after that.

"Well…" He said. It was back to the original problem. She ran off to do these statements at the drop of a hat. Was he supposed to drop everything to see her off and then again for when she got back? What if he was in the middle of something with Carly? And, anyway, even if she didn't have one of her Statements to make, he couldn't stay in another apartment every night, or even every other. That was far too much time away.

"Then I can go to your place." Socko said.

"Um…" Spencer's heart was starting to hurt as he became more and more aware of the problem at hand. She couldn't stay over. He'd never since he took Carly in had a woman over for the night. He had some very strong principles on the matter. Sure, Carly was eighteen now, definitely old enough to handle it, but he had a kind of deal with her that there would be no awkward breakfasts…

But, wait, wasn't those kind of breakfasts awkward only if it was a different woman every time? That had been a possibility when he'd made the deal, but it wasn't the situation now, was it?

"Yeah," he answered.

Socko's expression made it clear she hadn't expected that answer. He took her hands, pulled her close, "Come over when you get off work."

"Really?" she asked, all the breath wooshing from her.

"Yeah," he said, one corner of his mouth going up. "I'll talk to Carly."

"You'll do that for me?"

"I want to be your boyfriend." He said, "But I don't want to run around doing all the amazing things that you do. I would rather be there for Carly." He shrugged, "If I'm going to be with you and Carly as much as possible, this is the best solution."

Socko was smiling now, feeling giddy. She was completely forgetting to hold onto her principles, those ideas that she'd had to only be with men who shared her same ideals… He was just too cute, and fun, and sweet, and gentle for her to care.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay," he said. She went back to work, and he followed her to the counter, asking how the mountain top removal protest had gone. She told him all about it, and he leaned on the broken world mosaic and listened, smiling.

Carly sat on the couch, the phone in her hands. She was looking at it, her heart pounding as she recalled the conversation she'd just had with Gibby. It had been weird—unbelievably weird because it had been uncomfortable and wonderful at the same time as he asked how she was doing and explained some things…

The hurt she'd been feeling for weeks was still there, but some hope was back, bigger than ever—but so was a loud voice shouting of distrust. She was so confused, she wished she could curl up in bed and sleep for a hundred years rather than deal with this chiz.

Spencer walked through the door, singing. "Wuddup, kiddo?" he asked.

"Drama," she mumbled. He sat on the couch beside her.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Nah, thanks, though." She said, bringing her feet up onto the couch to wrap her arms around her knees. She laid her temple on a kneecap and put on a smile, looking him up and down. "You look happier than I've seen you all week—did you talk to Socko?"

"I did," He said.

"And? Are you guys still—you know." She wagged her eyebrows.

He twisted on the couch, dragging a leg up so that he could face her. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you."

"About what?"

"Remember how I promised that I wouldn't have ladies over?"

She laughed and hid her face, "Yeah."

He laughed, too, remembering the awkward conversation he'd had with a fourteen year old who had never before in her life considered her brother to be anything to anyone other than a brother, and who had found it quiet shocking that he even _had_ a love life.

"Would it be alright if I broke that promise, for Socko?" He asked. "I mean, you're eighteen, and you get it now, right?"

She lifted her head, laughing, "of course."

"So it's okay with you?"

"Yeah, of course it is, Spencer, I liked her—and she makes you so happy." Carly said, thinking it would be nice to have a woman around. She could use the advice a grown up woman had to offer.

He grabbed her in a tight hug. "Thanks, kiddo!"

_AN: I kind of love that Spencer and The Colonel seemed so similar in this. What do you think? Did it feel like a break from the cannon idea of their dad?_


	6. Chapter 6

**6. Look at it, don't you love it? Howcouldyounotloveit? DON'T YOU LOVE IT?**

Freddie and Sam came over later after Sam's shift at Build-A-Bra was over, Carly told her friends about the phone conversation with Gibby. As the three life-long friends talked about the difficult situation, Carly decided she was going to agree to meet Gibby to talk, but she realized she'd left her phone downstairs, and couldn't text him without it. Freddie went to retrieve it.

At the bottom of the stairs, he heard a giggle and found the couch occupied. The TV was on, but no one was watching it. Spencer had an arm around Socko and they were kissing.

Freddie stayed low and stretched until he could quietly grab Carly's phone from the side table, and then headed upstairs—not taking his eyes off the strange sight until he was too far up the steps to see them anymore. Then he ran the rest of the way up.

"Hey, Carly," Freddie said, "Socko's here."

"Yeah, so," Carly said, taking the phone from her friend.

"Yeah, but they're—"he pushed his fingers together until they interlocked, then finished, "watching TV together." He wasn't looking at Carly as he said it, he was looking at Sam, instead, and his eyebrows rose significantly. They knew how friends who kissed watched television. He sat on the couch and put his feet up on the water table.

Sam checked the watch at the end of the chain around her neck and stood, "that chick stays the night now?" she asked.

"Yeah," Carly said, with a sniff, not really caring, eyes on the text message she was composing to Gibby. Sam made to head down stairs, but Freddie grabbed her hand and pulled her down to sit next to him. "He's taken, Sam, get over it."

She punched him, but with not even half of her usual force. He dropped an arm around her shoulders and asked Carly to read her text out, so that they could judge on how it sounded.

...

Spencer slid under his sheets as Socko slipped into his room after taking a shower. Her highlighted hair was wet and loose from its usual braid. She wore a t-shirt that reached her knees and no socks. The sight of her toes was new and they were adorable. She ran and jumped, landed beside him on the mattress, and then scurried under the blankets, giggling. A waft of his body wash that she'd used enveloped him as she did so.

He wrapped his arms around her. It'd been a while since he'd had something so soft and kissable to hold onto as he slept in this room. He was going to like this.

She kissed him—meant it to be a goodnight kiss, but it lasted too long.

His hand slid down her side until it touched the bare skin of her leg, then it was going back up, this time under the shirt. When he didn't find underwear, he exhaled suddenly and shifted his weight, going partially over her as her thigh slid between his legs. She breathed in his sigh, pulled her shirt up.

He broke the kiss, "We—um," he whispered, "We can't." God, he wanted her—but they weren't alone in the apartment, and Socko tended be laugh loudly when thrilled, and it wasn't the sleep of a fellow grown up that they might disrupt.

"Of course we can."

"But my little sister—"he began, but she kissed him.

"She's asleep," she said against his lips and then pulled back to look at him. His eyebrows were cocked questioningly, imploringly.

"We can't be too loud, okay?"

His brown eyes met her blue. They were full of desire as well as concern. She nodded. He kissed her, but when he pulled her knee up over his hip, she broke away with a gasping, "Wait—wait—wait,"

"What?"

"You're right. We can't do this."

"But—"

She pushed her fingers against his lips, smiled up at him. "What in all of our history together makes you think I'm capable at being quiet about _anything_?"

He sighed. He knew she was right. He nodded. She sat up, pulled her shirt back down and he fell back onto his pillow.

Spencer slept in the next morning, having found it far too delightful to open his eyes to see a lot of purple, blond and black hair across his pillow. He heard Carly have breakfast and leave for school. He gave it a half hour to make sure she nor Freddie on a favor, was going to come darting into the apartment to grab something. Neither would have come to his room, they wouldn't have to, to know.

When he was sure that neither his little sister nor the boy next door would be innocent bystanders, he kissed Socko awake.

"Hmmm, I'm loving this alarm clock," she said dreamily, her eyes still closed.

"When'ya gotta be at work?"

"Nine," she sighed with a pout.

Spencer checked the clock and smiled. They had time...

As Mrs. Benson was locking up her apartment, she heard a muffled shriek. She whirled, terrified, to face the Shay apartment. Then, the distinct sound of wild laughter drifted in the wake of the shriek.

Gasping in shock and outrage, Mrs. Benson turned on her heel and charged toward the elevators, grumbling. She had always known that Spencer was a poor excuse for a guardian—but _entertaining_ in the same apartment he shared with his sister and, often enough, her son?

She wasn't going to stand for it.

...

Freddie could smell pomegranate shampoo as he and Sam huddled together, trying to hide while peeking through a window. Out in the courtyard—the very same where Sam had kissed Freddie—Gibby and Carly were having it out.

Sam was tense and mumbling that this whole thing was stupid. Freddie was ignoring her—he thought it was for the best. Sam hadn't allowed Carly to talk to Gibby alone ever since what had happened. She said that Carly was "too weak and soft." Freddie didn't think she was that weak, and if she had a soft spot for Gibby, then who could blame her?

He was a _good_ guy—even if he had made one little moronic mistake. _Which_, Freddie defended, but only ever in his head if Sam was around, _hadn't been actual cheating, since Carly had already broken up with him_. Sure, it having been just one day since the break up wasn't something to brag about, but Freddie felt that the technicalities won out. Sam called that "being a guy" and maybe it was, because Freddie just couldn't help it. He believed that any dude in that situation should have been forgiven by now.

Especially when it came to the unique situation of the Gibster and Carls.

Freddie's phone rang. He answered it with a grumble, "Not _now_, Mom!"

"Your classes haven't started yet," she said, and he knew she was looking at the time table of his day that she had in her planner. "This is important."

"What?"

"I don't want you hanging around Spencer anymore."

Freddie groaned. She must have seen Socko. "You can't stop me, Mom."

"Yes I can!" She shrieked, "I'm your mother!"

Freddie prayed for strength as Marissa began insisting that she would not have her son influenced by a—

"Mom!" he shrieked, his voice cracking. "Spencer is cool. I can't believe you'd call him that!"

Sam took the phone from him. "Listen, lady," she barked. Freddie tried to get it back, but Sam twisted and danced easily out of his reach.

By the time, Carly came back in from the courtyard tear streaked, with Gibby sinking sadly down onto the steps out there, it was to find Sam up on a table shouting into a phone that was shouting back in a little Mrs. Benson voice. Freddie was pleading with his girlfriend to stop making it worse.

"Guys!" Carly cried, tightly. Sam hung up the phone and hopped down from the table. Both of them forgot their fight as they went to Carly and hugged her.

For the next week, Carly felt like she was drifting through some kind of weird fog. Gibby had gotten it all said, all his explanations.

He'd been upset by her breaking it off with him. Cassandra—some hot bimbo no different from all the other bimbos he tended to know—had been there to comfort him and things had gotten out of hand. He hadn't meant for it to happen. He'd wanted his first time to be with her. Honestly.

She had wanted his first time to be with her, too. It would have been theirs together—_someday_. He'd sworn he could wait till whenever that day might be. But then the moment he could, he'd slept with someone else. That's what hurt the most, and that was what Sam was ready to draw blood for.

But what Freddie was saying was that it wasn't that big of a deal.

"Want me to hurt you?" Sam barked at him.

"I'm just saying—Gibby's a _guy_!"

"So you'd sleep with someone if I kicked you to the curb?"

"If she is as hot as Cassandra and jumped me? Yeah, probably," Freddie said—but only because he was well out of range of Sam's fists. She stood and he ran closer to the door.

They were in Carly's room. Carly was on her bed, moping. Sam had been beside her, stroking her hair, but now she was on her feet with her fists clenched. "You wouldn't dare."

"I'm a guy. It's biology."

"You aren't an animal, dishrag!" Sam cried. "Have some control!"

"I do have control," Freddie said. "That's why I'm still a virgin."

"You're still a virgin because you're a dork, not because you have control."

If Freddie wasn't such a gentleman, he would have said the comeback that sprang to his mind about _why_ he was still a virgin—but he was brought up to never use those words. And besides, Sam was none of them. She was just Sam. She would have sex when she was ready.

He often prayed that she would be ready any day now.

"Can we go back to me, please?" Carly asked with her face still in a pillow. Freddie leaned on her closed door. "Gibby isn't an animal. He controlled himself the whole time he was with you, didn't he? He only slept with Cassandra because he's _human_! He makes mistakes. Even the best of us can't be in control every moment of our lives."

"Ah, go hide in your bathroom and tell that to your wash cloth, Benson." Sam said. Carly screamed in her pillow, covering her ears, and Freddie went red. Sam smirked.

Freddie was not amused.

For just a second, Sam felt ashamed—even sorry—but she wouldn't let it show. Freddie scoffed, shaking his head, and stormed out of the room.

"Why'd you say that?" Carly asked, lifting her face out of her pillow.

"Because he was being annoying."

"He was being helpful."

Sam rolled her eyes, gave a surrendering kind of "Whatever."

Carly sat up. "You're too mean to him, you know."

"He'll forgive me."

Carly thought of a scruffy, smiling face, "Gibby's already forgiven me, you know." She said, and sniffed, "for breaking up with him over something so stupid—one little missed curfew. Even Spencer wasn't making that big of a deal out of it and if I hadn't broken up with him, he wouldn't have been sad and Cassandra never would have… _you know_… The whole thing was my fault and we've been so mean to him ever since, but he's forgiven me."

"He's only forgiven you in hopes it'll make you forgive him."

"Haven't I punished him enough?" Carly asked, thinking of the way she'd seen Gibby moping around all week.

"I don't know." Sam said, not making eye contact, as she tended to do when things were serious but there was no talk of bloodshed. "Do you _want_ to forgive him?"

"Yeah," Carly said in a small voice, "But should I?"

"I don't know." Sam answered, truthfully, looking out the door which Freddie had left opened in his furious departure. "I guess it would really hurt him if you never did," she said.

Carly started crying again, she didn't even know why anymore.

Spencer sat in silent contemplation of his latest sculpture. He was visualizing it, had been for nearly two hours now. It was coming together in that way where he could almost feel it. Soon, he'd been able to start putting the pieces together.

Movement on the stairs pulled him out of it. Carly was there. Freddie had left in a storm a while ago and Sam not long after that. He stood. "Hey, kiddo. Everything okay?"

She drew in a deep breath—and let it all go.

"Well, I was dating Gibby and having a really great time because he's so wonderful and sweet and strong but then we missed a few curfews and you were getting mad at me and I made Gibby swear he would never make me miss curfew again but then we went out to see a movie and after Gibby heard of a party and I didn't want to go but he begged me and I caved and we went and it was a lot of fun but then we missed that curfew before your birthday and I blamed him and we got in a fight and I broke up with him which made me really sad so the next day I went to his house to talk to him and there was this girl there named Cassandra who's a whole lot cuter than me and she left and I talked to Gibby and apologized and he accepted and then I came home and then the next day at school I heard a rumor that he'd slept with Cassandra and then it turned out to be true and that really really hurt me so ever since then I've been trying to get over him but I can't and he's been trying to get me to forgive him and begging me and apologizing over and over and saying such sweet things like that he misses me and now I'm wanting to forgive him and I don't know if I should but at this point I'm kind of thinking that I will anyway, because I miss him so much!"

Spencer blinked. "So you're going to forgive Gibby?" He asked.

She rushed down the stairs, "Should I?"

"Why not, if you want to."

"But he betrayed me!"

"You were already broken up," Spencer said. Carly huffed, "You're just saying that because you're a guy."

"And because Gibby's a guy," Spencer said.

"You sound like Freddie."

Spencer held up his hands, "Maybe it wasn't cool that it was so soon—and he should have said something when you went to see him… but we know Gibby. He's not just some guy you met at a mall or something. I'm sure Freddie is saying the same thing, and maybe even Sam, too. Gibby's a good guy. He just made a mistake."

"So I should forgive him?" Carly asked.

"Sounds to me like you already have, kiddo," Spencer said, "you're just letting principles get in the way."

"If we don't have our principles, what do we have?"

"Principles are great and all that, but you can't let them get in the way. It's good to have them, but if they are all you have, you'll be alone without a Gibby to hold."

"But…"

"I talked to Gibby," Spencer said. "A few weeks ago—right after it happened, actually. He's not like other guys, Carls."

"You really think so?"

"I know so." Spencer said. Carly threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. "Thanks, Spencer. I love you."

"I love you, too."

The next two months were a blur of happiness in the Shay apartment. Socko wasn't over every night, but nearly. And it became necessary for her to get the hang of muffling her loud laughter against his neck or shoulder because some nights both of them would rather die than stop. While thankful she was trying, Spencer was aware that Socko wasn't a pro at the art of being quiet, but if Carly noticed, she certainly didn't say anything. Or even make eye contact, for that matter.

Carly was dancing again as she set the table, and Gibby was back in the web show. He joined them for dinner a few times a week, and danced with Carly as they both set the table.

He _loved_ Socko. She, at first, thought the beefy young man was too weird in all his sincere forwardness and shirtless-ness—"So you're sleeping with Spencer now, that's cool." he'd said, pulling off his shirt—but he grew on her over the course of one dinner, and she soon joined in whenever the conversation called for all at the table to go, "_Gibbeh_!"

As happened quite a lot.

A letter came for Carly. She was accepted into her number one pick for college. Spencer hugged her tight, spun her around .Calls went to grandparents and aunts and cousins, plans made for a party of her closest friends.

Socko had started making arrangements for what _she_ considered a party—an event at the camp grounds with food and live music and who-knew-what-else. Carly and Gibby were loving the idea as she explained that she had some friends who could help Freddie set up whatever equipment he needed to do a live broadcast from the middle of the wilderness.

But Spencer had swooped in. "What—wilderness—what?"

"A live iCarly broadcast from the campground celebrations of my acceptance into UCLA." Carly said. Spencer had laughed and taken the cell phone right out of Socko's hands.

"No," he said.

"Why not?" Socko, Carly, and Gibby all asked together.

"They are only eighteen, Socks. There's drinking and—"he turned his face from the children and said, "_other things_ at your campground celebrations. They aren't old enough."

"Oh, c'mon, Spence!" Gibby said, but Spencer held up a hand. "When you're both twenty-one, alright?"

Carly rolled her eyes as Gibby agreed. Socko didn't understand—there were children much younger than Carly and her boyfriend at the campgrounds, but she didn't push the matter. Spencer clearly wasn't ready for Carly to see that side of his life yet.

Socko knew that Carly and her friends shot a live web show once a week, but she hadn't expected there to always be something going in the between time. Disaster struck often-the guest star turned out to be a real dishrag, Spencer misheard his directions for prop design, or a new bit went wrong and Gibby needed a first-aid kit. If it wasn't a show, there was other drama. Sam had to mark Freddie as her territory for a new girl in the building and a menacing little man named Chuck was giving the old King of Pranks a run for his money.

Private moments with Spencer were the best. At night sometimes, they just lay talking until they fell asleep. Sometimes, they worked on training that loud laughter out of her. Other times, even with Carly right there in sight, he'd whisper something in her ear—but not all of these comments gave her butterflies and tingles, some of them just made her laugh until she cried. In his room, she lay perfectly still, tangled in his sheets as his dark eyes roved over her body for hours while he sketched, or he wasted a whole day watching as she darned socks-she didn't just use a crochet hook like Grandmom, but pliers and wire-cutters and replacement light bulbs, and when she was done, nothing ever caught on fire.

One day, while Spencer was out running errands, Socko had emerged from the apartment on her way home to shower, dress and go to work, when Mrs. Benson cornered her there in the hallway. Socko'd never met her before, but Freddie had once given her a warning.

She couldn't be but a few years older than her, but Marissa continually looked down her nose at her with crazy eyes as she made blatant accusations about personal health and hygiene. Socko was growing more and more pissed off—punches would be thrown soon if the lady didn't back off.

She was saved with a ding of the elevator at the end of the hall. Freddie and Sam came out with their fingers laced to find that his mother had the poor artist woman cornered by the fichus. Marissa had gotten herself so worked up over tattoos and modern hairstyles that she wouldn't even hear her son's pleas.

Freddie saved the day by drawing the fire onto himself. He pushed Sam up against the wall in a fierce kiss, and she hooked a leg up around his hip to help drive the point home for mom. Socko got away and Freddie spent the rest of the night standing behind Sam as Sam defended his right to be a man.

Socko admitted to Spencer as she lay in his arms that she was finding his home life much more exciting than she ever thought it would be. He bumped his nose with hers, "Well it's only this exciting because you're here."

"Yeah?" she asked, not really believing it. That Mrs. Benson was a psycho—and Sam was far too ready to stand up to her.

"Yeah," he said, tucking hair on her unshaved side behind her ear. "You're the best, most fun thing that's ever happened to me."

She pushed an elbow into his ribs then, not ready to believe that he meant it, but he only kissed her. "I mean it, Socks." He said, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. "I love you."

Her stomach flipped, her heart fluttered, she lost her breath and if she ever had anything she might have been in the habit of saying when men said those words, she forgot it completely.

"I love you, too."

_AN: Two points: one, I think this may be the first time we ever wrote Mrs. B physically into a scene, and it was way too much fun, prolly gonna have to do that again, and two, that line Sam delivered about Freddie and a washcloth came out of no where and made us gasp out loud. Was it uncomfortable for you or just hilarious? We left it in because it was so hilariously uncomfortable. LOL_


	7. Chapter 7

**7. Must You Look in My Wok?**

"Throwing a birthday party for Wolf this weekend," Plum said, "You guys coming?"

"Can't," Socko said. She was on break, collapsed in a soft arm chair, and Spencer was rubbing her neck. "Going back home to Yakima."

"Really?" Plum blinked, "_Why_?"

"To visit my dad and grandfather," Spencer said.

"Wait, I thought you said you were going to Yakima?" asked the man strumming his guitar at the other end of the couch.

"We are," Socko said, "Shay's parents live in Yakima, too."

"Oh, that's right," the hobo in the corner said, "you two went to high school together."

The two Yakimaniacs grinned, and bumped noses.

...

"They'll love you," Spencer said as they turned down the last street. The houses were in sight. Spencer slowed the car as they passed her old house—the current owners had done a lot more with it-and then he pulled into Granddad's driveway and cut the engine. This house hadn't changed a bit. The front door swung open. Carly giggled and leapt right out to meet them.

"_Nothing_ to worry about," Spencer said for the millionth time, and even he wasn't convinced that the words were anything more than a desperate wish.

"Mr. Shay was never very smiley to me when we were kids," Socko said, thinking of the stern lawyer who'd ran the household back then. He stepped out of the house after the colonel.

"He's never very smiley," Spencer assured past a smile of his own. He was watching Carly. She'd sprinted across the well-manicured lawn and thrown herself into Dad's arms. He held her tight and spun her around. Spencer laughed suddenly excited again, and got out of the car. He waved to his Granddad watching from the porch then turned to Socko, who was getting out of the car at a much slower rate.

She gave Spencer a slightly queasy smile. He took her hand as she came around the car, "They'll love you, trust me," he said.

In memory of the stern grandparents, Socko had chosen a more conservative outfit without any prompting from Spencer. The shirt wasn't low-cut, her skirt was a modest length. But the clothes still didn't hide her tattoos, or her shaved head, or her socks.

For as long as she lived, she'd never cover up her socks.

Spencer's father, Colonel Steven Shay, was tall like his son, but not as thin. He was wide in bone structure and thick with muscle. He had the same brown hair, dark eyes, and turtle smile, though. He released Carly when Spencer crossed the lawn with a shout of greeting. Carly went to greet Granddad and Spencer clamped both arms tightly around his father. Socko hung back.

Father and son stood on the lawn with their chests pressed together in a fierce embrace for a few moments, laughing then Spencer broke apart to give his grandfather a hug, which was sincere but briefer. He turned to Socko.

"Dad, Granddad, this is my girlfriend, Socko. You'll remember her from when I was in high school."

"I'm Beverly's daughter," she said, with a wave back at the house where her mother used to live. It was the moment of truth. Spencer held his breath.

"Yes, I remember," Granddad said, eyes lingering far too long on her shaved head and the tattoo there, "Nice to see you again, dear. You haven't changed."

The Colonel was taking in the sight of his son's lady-friend with a big smile on his face. Spencer knew that his father would want to kill the person who tattooed Carly, but figured maybe he was smiling because he knew that it was a free country and that this woman made him happy.

Or maybe he was just being polite.

"Nice to meet you, Socko," he said, "I've heard a lot about you."

"Same to you," Socko said, taking the hand offered.

"A lot," the Colonel repeated, adding, "But not your _real_ name—or did your mother actually name you Socko?"

"_Daddy_," Carly said, but Socko waved it off.

"Anna Pren, sir."

"Please, call me Steve."

"Please, call me Socko."

The Colonel wrapped an arm around her shoulders and then peered at the star tattoo directly at his nose level. "What do all these stars mean, Socko?" he asked.

"Um, nothing. I just like them."

"You're hair," Granddad cut in, loudly, but Spencer spoke up, "Hey, why don't we all go in the house?"

They let Carly and Socko in first, Spencer went with Socko, followed by Granddad and the Colonel. Socko whispered lowly, "Does this mean your dad likes me?"

"It's still not clear," Spencer said. The Colonel had a way of hiding his true feelings and being polite—his attempt not to be like his father, who was now pursing his lips, evidently trying to take a leaf from his son's book.

...

Spencer and Socko stood looking at the bed in his old room. His feet would hang off the end of it—they already had been by the time he'd graduated, and he'd managed to grow even taller since then.

"This will be interesting,"

"It's no bigger than a sleeping bag," Spencer said with a shrug, pulling her in for a kiss. She laughed, "Actually, I think my sleeping bag _is_ bigger than this bed."

"Probably," Spencer laughed. Socko drifted over to his window and looked at a certain place in the sill. Someone had carved a date there, Spencer's due date, three days before his real birthday. She remembered the day he'd shown it to her when they were kids. "My mom put this here when the doctors told her when to expect me." Then he'd explained how his parents had been teenagers when they'd had him, and how Deb had come to live here after being disowned by her family.

Socko looked around, feeling funny. This room had been his dad's, which he'd then shared with his mom. Then it was Spencer's, which he was now going to share with her.

Before she could even think about the connotations of that, Carly stuck her head in the door, "Hey," she said. "Dad told me to go get B.F. Wangs."

"Yum," Spencer and Socko chimed together.

"Um," Carly was trying too hard to be casual, "Socko—do you want to come with me?"

"Sure," Socko said as Spencer caught the meaningful glance that Carly tossed him. Someone downstairs had asked her to get Socko out of the house so that they could talk about her.

Spencer walked down stairs with them, kissed Socko as she was on her way out the door, and turned to see Granddad sitting at the kitchen table. He thought it would be Granddad. Spencer smiled, and joined him, taking an apple from the bowl in the middle.

"How've'ya been, Granddad?"

"As well as ever," he replied as Steve emerged from the kitchen. He put a glass of passion tea in front of his father and took a seat.

"How long have you been with Anna?" Granddad asked, trying his best to sound nonchalant, casual, but it still came out with too much of his lawyer days in it.

"She wants to be called Socko." Spencer said, as he twisted the stem off his fruit. It snapped off with one twist, allowing him only to get as far as A in the alphabet in the childish game that Carly had taught him. He smiled. A for Anna.

Grandadad seemed to ignore the comment and waited quietly for his answer—with all the silent demands of a lawyer questioning a witness. Dad looked curious, but only in the way a man is when he hasn't seen his son in a while.

"We began dating when she got back from Africa about three months ago."

"Only three months?" he asked, as Steve echoed, "Africa?"

"I expected more," Granddad said, "Haven't you've known her for fifteen years?"

"Yeah, but we were just friends."

"Just friends," He echoed.

"Yeah," Spencer said, feeling the first bites of anger. Granddad was assuming that she was a Friends with Benefits girl simply because of her tattoos. Steve spoke up then,

"What was she doing in Africa?" he asked.

"Helping build schools," Spencer said, and got to see the satisfying sight of surprise on Granddad's face. Steve beamed as Spencer explained, proudly, "They built ten school houses in a year, including work on the roads to make travel to them easier."

Granddad frowned, deeply impressed and thus at a loss. Spencer bit into his apple and chewed it happily. "She's an amazing woman, Granddad." He said, "Why don't you ask _her_ about herself—get to know her. You'll like her."

With that, Spencer changed the subject asking instead after his cousins and aunts and uncles, and Granddad's hobbies, until Dad butted in, declaring he could give a damn about cousin Ozlottis's appendicitis. He wanted to know more about Carly's boyfriend, whom she'd been far too vague about. Who was he? What was he like? Was he smart? How much time did he spend with Carly—he didn't go into Carly's room did he? Were they ever _alone_?

Spencer made assurances where assurances were necessary—skimming over a few truths about Gibby being in Carly's room—and then tried his best to explain the unique personality of Gibby. He was in the middle of a kind-of-funny story about Gibby and mentioned the detail of Socko's presence in the loft one morning.

"She sleep over often?" Granddad interrupted.

Spencer took a deep breath. "Yes."

Steve chuckled but Granddad didn't look amused. "With _Carly_ there?"

"She's eighteen."

"And you're supposed to be setting an example for her!" Granddad cried, thumping the table with his forefinger. Spencer ran a hand through his hair.

"Dad," Steve cut in. "Who cares?"

"Who cares?" he looked horrified. "You're baby girl is the number one benefactor of that woman's influence!"

Spencer deeply resented the implication that he hadn't thought of that and released hot breath in a short laugh, "_That woman's_ name is Socko and-"

Steve batted Spencer down. He'd handle this. "Of course I care about Carly, dammit, that's not what I'm saying. I meant Spence is _thirty_ years old."

"What kind of point is that?" Granddad asked with wrinkled brow.

"I'm just saying that if he _wasn't_ in a relationship by now you would have just as much to say about it."

"Are you saying there's no pleasing me?"

Spencer cut in there, "Look, guys! Granddad, I understand your concern about this matter. It concerned me to for a while to, but I didn't allow it to happen until Socko and I were in a place in our relationship that would demonstrate to Carly the importance of love and commitment. And Dad, Carly's a great kid, she's got a head on her shoulders thanks to the three of us, and I'm a vigilant care-giver. Trust me."

Granddad had nothing to say in rebuttal. Steve smiled proudly at his son. Spencer had managed to learn one thing he personally never had in Mr. Shay's house, and that was how to argue like a lawyer.

"Why's her hair like that? All lopsided and different colors, what's she think she's rock star?" He gave Steve a specific look as he said that, and everyone remembered the rock-n-roll band Steve had had in high school.

Spencer smiled. Steve closed his eyes, embarrassed, and shook his head.

"She does her hair like that 'cos she expresses herself, 'cos she's _my_ kind of lady!" Spencer shouted happily, letting the emotions he felt whenever he thought of how much she meant to him bubble above the surface.

Steve laughed, enchanted and sipped his coffee. "Hellova woman. Humanitarian. I like that."

Granddad huffed, suddenly onto another angle. "And another thing, I don't know what kind of school those where if tattooed women with shaved heads built them."

"She didn't build 'em with her bare hands. She did the behind-the-scenes stuff, hired teachers and collected the money. It doesn't matter what she looks like."

"Deb would have liked her," Steve said, and then Carly and Socko were back with the food laughing and singing.

...

For the first time in her life, Carly was feeling like she had a _real_ family, not some broken, spread out thing. Her grandfather's house was full for the weekend. The dinner table had none of its usual moments of silence now with Socko telling her stories, and Steve demanding to know what the hell kind of a name is _Juicy_ for a man? And Spencer and Carly teaming up on their grandfather to winkle a smile out of him, and rock-paper-a scissors over the last fortune cookie, and Steve's constant refrain of, "Ah, Deb would have loved that. She loved that kind of thing."

There was a line of an evening for the tiny bathroom, which had never happened before. With Socko occupying the shower, Steve had grabbed his son's shoulders and cried, "We don't have the time or the hot water for all of us—get in there and share!" Then he pounded a heavy fist on the door and boomed in his Colonel voice, "Look out, Socks, we're sending you're man in there!"

Spencer had failed to look reluctant to go, especially with his loud, "Yea-haha!" Granddad had pursed his lips, his eyes darting to Carly. Steve cringed, put a hand on his daughter's shoulders, "They love each other."

"I know, Dad," she said. He and his father tensed, she added, "I mean I understand—I don't _know_!"

...

The air in the bathroom was steamy as Spencer stripped off his clothes. Socko was laughing as she pushed back the curtain so he could hop in. "Oh my god, I can't believe this was you dad's idea."

"He's not talking about funny business," Spencer said, taking in the sight of sudsy bubbles clinging to all of her star tattoos. "He's serious about conserving the hot water."

She pouted, "So no time for a shower quickie?"

He hated that he had to say _no_, and was well aware that she'd mastered her muffled laughter, too, but he knew his dad was seriously concerned about the hot water—and well, anything other than actual washing would only waste it, and thus piss off the Colonel. Instead, he washed her and she washed him and then he washed her again, and then they really had to stop.

At night, they may have gotten used to the idea of possibly being over heard by Carly, but neither could get their heads around the thought of the Colonel or Granddad, and so she just curled her body against his, kissed his neck. They said goodnight, and fell asleep.

...

Socko was kicking the Colonel's butt at Violin Hero. Carly was rooting for her father, and Spencer, acting as a representative of the Many Victorious States of Socko, was doing what he called a "You just got PWNED" victory dance directed at his father.

"Is someone going to help me with the dishes tonight?" Granddad demanded from the kitchen doorway. Steve had fallen into his old rock star days and his children were having far too much fun cheering him and dissing him. When no one heard him Granddad said loudly, "Anna, could you give me a hand?"

Steve hit the Pause Game button.

"I believe that was a poorly disguised hint that we ought to stop having fun, _Anna_," he said, in a voice that was so like his father's it was eerie. Socko laughed outright, then stopped immediately, having the tact to look guilty.

Spencer joined his father, "Yes, _Anna_, I think it's clear whose hiney has been whopped!"

"Who's hiney?' the Colonel asked, sticking out his own and looking back at it, "You can't mean this one?" he shook it.

"My sink is filled with dishes from the whole weekend!" Granddad said.

Carly leapt up, "I'll be happy to help you Granddad."

As Carly took one for the team, Steve chuckled. Socko sighed, "Man, Steve. I don't know what to do—I've got you to like me, but that nut just won't crack!"

Steve waved it off, "He used to be fun when I was a kid. I'm afraid life's just made a crotchety old coot out of him."

"Grandmom had Alzheimer's for several years before she died." Spencer added lowly.

"And he didn't take Deb's death too easily, either."

"I imagine no one could have," Socko said and Steve gave the blue star beneath her knuckles a kiss of gratitude. He sighed, still holding Socko's fingers.

"After Deb passed, he had to take in my children since I couldn't be there for them. The medical and funeral expenses on top of a teenaged boy and newborn baby—and a son off in the gulf." He huffed, "My mom kept him loving life… and then she started forgetting it all and…" The Colonel's voice thinned and trailed off. Spencer dropped a hand onto his father's shoulder.

Socko went in for a hug, which he returned with delighted surprise.

"I won't take his lack of warmth too personal, then." She said.

"He likes you, Socks," Spencer assured her.

"I likes you, too." Steve said.

...

Goodbyes were hard. The Colonel and Carly went out into the backyard to sit in the pavilion. They talked for a long time and both came in with red eyes. Carly hugged her grandfather and went to wait in the car.

Socko gave Steve a quick hug, returned Granddad's goodbyes, and joined her. The Colonel hugged Spencer tightly, "We don't talk enough."

"Because we don't call enough."

"We will,"

"Okay," Spencer's eyes pricked. Geeze, he thought it would have been easier—being thirty and a full grown man, but somehow that only made it worse. If he was grown, his dad was old, and they didn't have so much time… Not that the Colonel was that old. He'd been all of seventeen when he and a nineteen year old Deb had, as he once put it to a curious seven year old Spencer, "bumped some things around" and then got him nine months later.

Spencer hadn't been there when Carly had been in her curious stage, but suspected that the answer must have matured into something more eloquent and appropriate than that—something about angels and storks and birds and bees.

The Colonel held his son at arm's length, met his eyes with a matching set of his own. "I'm proud of you, son," he said. "Carly's got a head on her shoulders and it's mostly your doing."

A rush went through Spencer, a thrill of pride and love and gratitude. He grabbed his father into another hug. "Thanks, Dad."

It was Spencer's turn to hold someone at arm's length, gave a half smile, "And what do you think about Socko?"

"She's wonderful."

"I love her," Spencer admitted—gushed, all breath and smile. He had expected his father to respond with shouts of joy or something. Instead, he just looked sad.

"What?"

"She's wonderful—but… Just be careful. A girl like that would break men like us in half and keep walking."

"Wha?" Spencer asked in a hot expulsion of all the breath left in him.

The Colonel clapped him on the shoulder. "I was there—and it happened to me. It's how I met your mother."

"Yeah, but Dad—"

"I'm not saying she isn't fun and wonderful. Just don't plan on forever."

At this, Spencer frowned. _Forever_? He hadn't even thought about it. He was an In the Moment kind of a guy. Just the thought of forever with Socko was… weird.

The Colonel was still talking. "You don't want to walk yourself into an Uncomfortable Heart Place. She's looking for something a lot wilder and adventurous than you have plans for—nothing too serious."

Spencer frowned, utterly at a loss to how his father could think he knew the woman better after three days than he did after fifteen years. All he could think to say was, "Okay," and he delivered it as if he understood, because it was the only kind of answer that his father would accept.

The Colonel looked relieved. He hugged him once more.

"I love you, son. I'll miss you."

"I love you, too, Dad."

_AN: We thought we'd have a little more fun with this, explore the dynamics between the three generations of Shay men, and explain the age difference between Spence and Carly. Personally I think it was worth it just for the scene outside the bathroom. Was it a hit or a miss?_


	8. Chapter 8

**8. I Get My Best Ideas When I'm Wet**

The summer was over. Spencer was crying as he helped Carly pack up her car. She was crying too, and he kept asking her if she had everything, even though they both knew that she did. Not only had they both checked everything a billion times just to make sure, but Carly was enough of a control freak to have not missed anything in the first place. Still he asked and still she answered with an unsure, "I think so…"

Neither was ready for such a big change. It would be the first time in five years Carly wouldn't see her brother every day, and the first time in seven that Spencer would be living alone, working to pay rent. He had his old part-time dental hygienist's job back, and Neil was going to let him drive the fork lift at the junk yard. That left little time for art and other things, but he wasn't going to move out of the apartment, so two jobs it was.

It wasn't all bad. He woke up with the sun and sorted through broken and mismatched items. There he could find anything, even the occasional snake or a raccoon hiding under something. It was inspiring and scary out in the maze, and in the office with the orange ribbons fluttering in the low air conditioners, it was fun with old Neil whistling through his teeth as Spencer shared stories about his lady friend.

Then it was home for a shower and maybe dinner with Socko and then it was a night shift of spit-in-the-face and lame dentist jokes, but at least he didn't have to focus on too much and he could let his mind wander back to his art and Socko. Then it was home and bed. Sometimes Socko was there to hold, and sometimes she wasn't. Dinner was about all they could manage because he had to get up too early and she was often so busy with her own things.

While she wasn't near as active as she had once been, Socko still managed to squeeze in at least one of her Statements a week. She would need only hear about it through her usual connections and then she was off. She would prattle on about it—talking in numbers and comparisons to other Statements, and goals, and things. He kept up with the facts, but never with the enthusiasm.

Which then sparked a brief argument or two that usually went along the same lines as:

"It's like you don't care about the things that make me happy!"

"I do!"

"Unless it doesn't have anything to do with you, right?"

"Most of them don't have anything to do with _you_, either!"

"They _do_ have something to do with me—BECAUSE I CARE!"

"I _know_ you care—but can't we talk about something already? It's been, like, two hours!"

"Oh, okay, yeah, let's talk about what _you_ want to talk about-and what _has_ Carly been up to? Oh, that's right, it's only been five minutes since you last called her!"

"Hey! Don't turn my love for my little sister against me!"

"Don't roll your eyes when I'm trying to be excited about this—when I'm trying to _share this feeling with you_!"

"I wasn't rolling my eyes!"

"Yes you were!"

"Well, if I was, it's only because it's been TWO HOURS!"

"It's only been two hours because I'm trying to get you excited about this and you won't even try!"

"BECUASE. I. DON'T. CARE!"

Such fights were resolved with some time enough apart for them to both realize that they missed each other.

With only the excitement of fights against snakes, raccoons, and big scary spiders in his morning job to look forward to while he and Socko weren't talking, Spencer would remember his father's words, _Women like her tend to break men like us in half and keep walking_. He'd start missing her so much he couldn't breathe and inevitably he'd go find her and convince her that she wasn't shot of him so easily.

For some reason she always needed convincing.

Then it was time for the make-up loud laughter to begin, which was the rare time that Spencer was thankful for the perpetual absence of Carly and her friends because they needn't be in his room for it. They managed to break one leg of his kitchen table off once, and he had the skid mark on the wood floor to prove it.

The rest of the time, the apartment was far too quiet without Carly shrilly freaking out about something, and her friends popping in and out like they owned the place. But, while he missed seeing her smile, he never had time to actually miss her—they called far too often.

They talked nearly every day. She called to discuss a paper thesis with him, to complain about this or that professor, or just to tell him what funny thing happened. He shared amusing junk yard stories, complained about dentistry, or asked about her opinion of the last sculpture pic he sent her. Since Freddie and Gibby chose to go to UCLA as well, and since Sam just moved there, they still did the show—now every two weeks, due to the pressures of classes—and though he couldn't always watch it live because of work, he never missed one.

Socko realized the folly in her assumption that Spencer would be more interested in her statements once Carly had gone off to college. She remembered the brief period of time Spencer had lived in Seattle without his sister. She couldn't recall seeing a lot of him back then as anything but the tallest, thinnest, most bored-looking waiter in Juicey's restaurant, pouring the champain in her date's glass with an annoying smirk in his lips and a low comment about the specials like she didn't know them. Even then he hadn't shown a lot of interest in her statements. She hadn't gotten him to go camping a lot in those days—but then again, living alone he wouldn't have had the need.

It was strange, thinking of Back Then, when he was just another face in the long line of people she knew in this city. She was laughing with Spencer on the matter as she helped him out of his dentist-office-smell with bath salts and scented candles. He was having fun racing water droplets over the stars on her body and it tickled.

"I have a confession to make," she whispered.

"What?" he asked, returning the whisper with a light chuckle. His breath over her shoulder rose chills on her skin. He kissed them and sprinkled warm water back over the stars.

She bit her lip. "Do you remember high school?"

He took a deep breath of the past. "Oh yeah; senior year; Stephanie Corners." He whistled low at the thought of the girl who made him a man. Socko gasped and dug an elbow into his ribs. He laughed in pain and apologized. "You brought it up!"

"I brought up high school in general."

He shrugged. "It's the only part of high school I care to remember."

"Do you remember when we met?"

He laughed. "Yes."

"What'd you think of me? The first impression?"

Spencer's mind wafted back to that fuzzy memory of walking into class and finding a witch bride sitting in the middle of the class room. He smiled and tilted her chin up so he could see those blue eyes.

"I think you freaked me out."

She blinked, slightly stunned. He smiled. "I was too young to know that I liked that."

She put the tip of her tongue between her teeth in a flirty smile. "When did you know?"

"About the time I was thirty."

She pushed her hand into his face, a slow motion slap. He pushed his lips back into her hand and laughed.

"Before or after I got back from Africa?"

"After," Spencer answered with a kind of no-duh laugh. He was remembering the farewell party—Tami, no Tiffany, yeah, with the curls and the—anyway, it'd been her tent he'd, ah, _taken refuge in from the rain_, so to speak. And he'd picked up his old buddy from the airport with every intention of meeting another delightfully female stranger at the party, but had ended up in Socko's tent instead.

"It's weird. You were my best friend for fifteen years and you were just Socko and then one day you weren't."

"_Best_ friend?"

"Yeah," he laughed. "What?"

"I was your best friend?"

"Still are."

"I AM?" his volume control issue was contagious.

"Yeah, how's that surprising? You know I've never been popular."

She giggled. "That's just in your mind. You can be, if you just tried."

He shrugged. "Rather have time to myself—I mean you're almost more than I can handle. I don't need anyone else."

She bit her lip, getting chills on all the skin above water. Her heart thumped a little louder than usual (it did that a lot these days, like it'd caught Spencer's volume control disease as well) but the moment felt suddenly surreal. This whole time, she'd been imagining a casual friendship, not one he depended on.

She remembered meeting a tall awkward kid who had absolutely no awareness of inside/outside voices, who had funny things sketched all over the paper jackets of his textbooks, who walked into her fist ever public school class and folded himself into the seat next to her and started talking, when the other kids hadn't quite been brave enough.

She was smiling and drawing patterns in the bubbles on his knee cap when he interrupted her reminiscence.

"Do you ever think of the future?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… maybe if we'd thought of the future back then we'd of seen this coming."

"What? Getting all pruny together in my bathtub?"

He giggled. "Maybe; I mean, where do you think we'll be in another fifteen years?"

Socko's eyes widened. "We'd be 45."

Even though that wasn't as deep as Spencer had been hoping for, it still resonated with him. Never in his life had he considered being in his forties. Ever. Heck, it'd taken turning thirty to consider his thirties. For a moment, being Over-the-hill was just too much for either of them to comprehend. The best they had to go on were their parents.

"Dad's hair-line started receding at 45!" Spencer's hand shot to his forehead.

Socko laughed and nodded. "And Mom was going through The Change."

Spencer's eyebrows came together. "What's The Change?"

Socko giggled. "You know what, I'm not even going to tell you; you'll find out one day."

He let it go because he had a point he was trying to make. "Anyway, so maybe not fifteen years. Say five years, two years, next year…what do you think we'll be doing?"

Socko was onto him now. She got a little uncomfortable. "I don't worry about that stuff. What's the point, I mean, life's got no guarantee."

"Sure it does," Spencer said.

"Like what? Dad's stay and mom's don't die?"

All the breath left Spencer's body. "That was uncalled for."

"I'm sorry."

"There are other guarantees. Like beauty."

"Okay, I'll give you that one."

They fell quiet, thinking about this proclamation. Spencer eventually began to dribble water on her again.

"What was that you were going to confess?"

Socko's eyes had fallen shut in her comfort. They popped open now and she froze. "What?"

"You said you were going to confess something from high school."

"Oh yeah," it was clear she'd never actually forgotten it.

She hesitated, and he could tell that she was about to laugh in embarrassment. A little bit alarmed—she didn't embarrass easy—and quite thrilled at the prospect, Spencer sat her up and she twisted around with a lot of sloshing water.

At the sight of his great big smile and shining brown eyes alight with intrigue, she almost couldn't say it, but she did.

"I had a crush on you back then."

"YOU DID?"

She giggled and nodded, embarrassed.

"NO WAY!"

"It's true."

"WHY DIDN'T YOU EVER TELL ME?"

She was laughing too hard now to speak. She motioned to him to stop shouting. It was far too comical with the acoustics of the bathroom.

"Sorry, why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I was a girl, it was awkward and you were so cool—"

"YOU THOUGHT I WAS—sorry—you thought I was cool?"

She nodded. He laughed, shrugged, laughed again, and then he was kissing her and she was straightened out and they slid under the bubbles.

The acoustics of the bathroom were doing interesting things with her loud laughter when came the persistent sound of a door buzzer—the visitor was leaning on it in annoyance. Socko dripped all over the rug as she leaned over the edge of the tub to grab her watch from the counter. "Who could it be?"

She climbed out of the tub and grabbed a robe. "Must be an emergency," she said, "I'll be right back,"

"Huuurrrrreeeee!" Spencer whined as she went.

Spencer waited in the flickering candle light of the bathroom, trying his best to keep the mood alive… but the more time passed, the more ridiculous he felt sitting in a tub of bubbles with candles all around, all by himself. He imagined one of her friends had arrived with news of some protest and she was now caught up in it.

He got out, wrapped a towel around his waist and hurried out to find her.

Socko was pouring a cup of tea when Spencer came sprinting out of the bathroom covered in bubbles and a towel, singing the Pack Rat theme song as he hunted the cheese—he screamed and covered his chest when he saw that it wasn't just one of Socko's friends, but her mother.

"HOLY BEVERLY!" he shouted. The middle-aged plump woman standing in the kitchen turned and gasped pleasantly. Socko laughed and turned apologetically to Spencer. "Sorry. I was just on my way in there to tell you—guess who's here?"

Spencer's chin was tucked in and resting on both fists. He had his elbows closed securely over his bellybutton. "Yeah, hi, Beverly, so good to see you again!"

Beverly Pren looked him from dripping head to sudsy toes. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

"Spencer Shay," he held out a hand, realized he'd have to come closer in all of his nakedness to shake, and decided against it. He took a step or two back. "I'll just—"He darted back into the bathroom.

While embarrassing, it didn't get bad until he was dressed and sitting across from her at the table. Spencer thought, at first, that the conversation wasn't going so well because she still resented him for ruining that antique rug with gravy—she certainly didn't appreciate him bringing it up, but then he started to think she just had something against him as a whole person in general. That seemed to have to do with his support for the soldiers, his brief stint as a law student with intentions to be in corporate law, his part time dentist work, and his "certainly interesting" style of art which wasn't so successful that he could ditch the part time jobs.

That night ended with Spencer announcing abruptly that he was going home because he had an early start in the morning and maybe the door slammed behind him as he went. The true horror began the next day, when Socko crossed her arms and said,

"Why did you treat my mom like that?"

"Why'dahtreat-ah-who'nwhaaaaa?"

It wasn't as funny as he'd hoped, though Plum at least chuckled as she handed the customer at Spencer's elbow a steaming cup of coffee. Socko gave her friend a stern look. Plum's amusement disappeared with Spencer's hope that a few funny faces would get him out of this.

He straightened his jacket and stood a little straighter. "I'm sorry."

"I mean, I know she just showed up without warning, but she does that. She didn't know we were in the middle of something. There was no reason to take it out on her."

"I wasn't," he said, a little confused about why she was still mad after he apologized.

"You were a little rude to her, and you just left in the middle of her story."

"That wasn't a story that was a lecture on why every corporate lawyer is the scum of the earth. She _knew_ my Granddad worked corporate for forty years."

"Well, you shouldn't take the things she says so personally."

"Uh, she was _deliberately_ attacking me," he said, lowly, quite aware that this wasn't the time or place to get into it, but he never was one to hold an opinion to himself—the whole reason why Beverly sniffed at him so much the night before.

Socko scoffed, "Only because you were disagreeing with everything she said!"

"I wasn't doing it on _purpose_—I was just offering my contradicting opinion!"

"You couldn't keep that to yourself?" Socko snapped, blue eyes blazing with the venom saturating her voice. A reply sprang immediately to mind, but he swallowed it, cleared his throat and said, "Okay, let's not do this here," He could feel the eyes on them throughout the café.

He checked his watch, sighed. His shift at the dentist office started in an hour and he had to wash the junkyard dust off. "I gotta go—we'll talk later."

His plan to talk later turned out to include Beverly, because Socko thought it was a good idea to bring her by his apartment after his shift. Beverly was a little more civil—until she asked him if he honestly had no other goals or plans in life than to work part time for other people and sculpt on the weekends. Didn't he have some kind of other talent to cultivate, or maybe a dream of running his own business or something?

He tried harder than ever to keep a lid on it, but apparently he had more of his Granddad in him than he would have liked, and three days of law school too many in the arguing department. His defense for not having any other plans other than what he was currently living, came out a little more sharply than he would have liked.

Maybe it was because talking to Beverly, having to explain his life and his feelings, reminded him of when he first quit law school. He'd thought he was done with over-controlling parents.

After Beverly left, Socko stayed behind to talk about what had just happened, which only turned into screaming.

"What the hell, Shay? You were being mean to her again!"

"I was only _reacting_ to how she was treating me—I can't believe you would twist it around into misbehavior on _my_ part!"

"You could have tried harder to be nice!"

"_She_ could have tried harder—_I_ was trying hard enough!"

"She was just expressing herself—I thought you liked people who did that."

"I do, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to agree with everything that she says! If anything, I expected her to be more open minded!"

"More open-minded? You think my mother isn't open-minded?"

He knew he'd regret it, but he wasn't going to lie. "Yes."

Socko threw one of his couch cushions at him. It missed, "I can't believe you'd say that!"

Staying calm in the way he had a natural talent to do in a heated situation, he answered, "I just did."

"She's my _mom_, Shay—God, why can't you respect that?"

"I respect that she's your mother. She just doesn't like me."

"Seems like you don't like her, either!"

"Can I help that?"

"God!" Socko cried and her voice actually cracked as she pulled at her hair. "I can't believe you, Shay, it's like you don't even _try_ to do anything!"

"I try at things!"

"Not enough things,"

"Hey! I try at the just right amount of things!" Spencer cried, "You just try too many!"

With angry tears welling up in her blue eyes, Socko grabbed her coat and headed for the door. Spencer caught her arm, "Don't go—let's talk about this."

"Nothing more to say," she said, choked.

"Of course there is," he breathed but her arm slipped out of his fingers.

It seemed to take a lot of effort on her part to look him in the eye, and then she turned and opened the door, and left.

_AN: It's a toss up between the image of Spencer in the oh-so-flattering fancy-dining waiter's uniform or his reasons for singing that Pack Rat Song... _


	9. Chapter 9

**9. They'll call me Spencer—the man without a lady to hold.**

Grandmom used to say heartbreak was part of being an adult. Well, being an adult was jank. It was painful, and lonely, and jank. Spencer wished he'd had the good sense to remain a child forever. Children were so forgiving, so ready to move on and have fun. Try as he might, he couldn't forgive and he couldn't move on, and nothing in the world seemed like fun anymore.

There had been three failed attempts to talk about things since the fight, but there had been no make-ups or kisses or monkey hugs; just angry tears and a hobo chasing him from the café. He didn't want to give up, but he didn't know what else to do. He missed her like a sharp ache in his stomach but even that wasn't enough to make him apologize for being himself. If she would just let him dislike her mother, then he would let her run all over the world trying to make a difference. It was meant to be a compromise but Socko had resented his word choice.

"_Let_ me run all over the world? _Let_ me? Sorry Shay, but I'm not yours to control, and if you don't like what I do, there's the door."

And that when the hobo had attacked.

His eyes burned, but no tears fell. It was over. This one wasn't going to be fixed by staying mad until their bodies started to ache for each other and a simple, "I'm sorry, let's forget the whole thing," put things back in business.

Not this time.

If they weren't going to get passed this then it looked like it was over.

He'd gone straight home after the hobo, curled up on the couch and stared at the blank TV screen. He was having trouble contemplating life beyond this point.

His father's words came back to him. _Don't plan on forever, son. Women like that break men like us in half and keep walking._

He scoffed. Dad saw this coming in one weekend; saw before him that he already had been planning on forever. How had the colonel done that? He wondered if it was a man-once-in-love thing, or a Dad thing, or both.

Spencer had scoffed and waved it off at the time. He hadn't believed he had been planning on forever, but he supposed that was probably what it meant when he hadn't liked to think of life without her, and made all plans with her in mind. But of course he'd thought like that, he was in love.

He thought back to that night, which would have been so like the others spent wrapped up in her, breathing in her sighs and feeling goose bumps on her skin under his fingers, except that this night wasn't like the others. It had become something exceptional—and with just one little truth, said lowly and tenderly against her lips.

"I love you," he'd said. God, how he'd meant it. He couldn't believe that was the one and only time he'd ever told her.

Seriously. It was _really_ uncomfortable in his chest right now. He drew in a deep breath, hoping to relieve some of the pressure; then a series of them as his eyes burned a little bit worse. Somehow every breath just made things feel even tighter and more uncomfortable in there.

Whoa. This hurt.

This had been no ordinary break up. In one of those, the relationship ends and things go back to like how it was before it began. But that couldn't happen this time. Before this relationship began, she had been his best friend. Now she couldn't even be that. Going back to before he knew Socko would be going back a while.

Basically, this break up was setting him back to the ninth grade in Yakima.

He hated the ninth grade in Yakima.

The apartment was too quiet. He grabbed the phone and dialed. Calry was giggling when she answered, and she sounded breathless, "Yeah?"

"Carly!" Spencer cried, then he thought he heard the muffled low tones of a boy and his eyebrows snapped low, "Is this a bad time?"

"No," she said, "What's up?"

Spencer drew in a deep breath and let it go, then admitted, "I'm sad."

"Oh no, why?" Carly asked, genuinely worried because she heard it in his voice. He wasn't just sad. He was miserable.

"I think Socko and I just broke up."

Carly gasped, "No!" then to someone else she said, "They broke up,"

"Who?" was the muffled voice of Gibby, distant but not _too_ distant, "Socko and Spence? Why?"

Spencer explained in short halting sentences. Carly tried her best to comfort him, but it only reminded him of when he'd been comforting her. The best she could say was that he needed to hang in there, because it would all work out. Then she and Gibby had a class starting across campus and she had to go. She promised to call later and hung up.

The silence in the apartment after he killed the dial tone of the phone seemed louder than before. He didn't want to be alone in this uncomfortable heart place. Who else could he call? He tried Freddie, but only got a voice mail. He tried Sam and it rang twenty times before he gave up.

He thought about calling Granddad for all of a second, and then decided that Granddad was someone he loved, but not someone who was any good at comforting. He tried Dad in a last ditch effort. He was probably miles under the ocean with no signal.

"Colonal Shay, here."

"Dad!"

"Spencer!" The Colonel laughed in delighted surprise, "Son! How are you?"

Spencer's eyes burned. He would have liked to see his dad right now. Mom, too, for that matter. Mom, with her black paint-spattered hair. He wondered what kind words she would have for him in a time like this.

"Son? Have I lost you?"

"I'm here, Dad."

"How are you?"

"Um, not so good, Dad," he said. Just like that, the Colonel understood. He sighed heavily on his end of the line.

"I warned you."

"Dad, I don't need that right now!" Spencer cried.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm so alone!" Spencer cried, "Carly and her friends are gone, now Socko is, too."

"At least you got your art, right?"

Spencer scoffed. "Art doesn't kiss your neck."

"_Whoa_," the Colonel cried, "Let's not go there, son. That's your private business."

"But I miss her!"

"Of course you do, you saw her naked."

"Dad, this isn't a joke."

"I'm sorry." He sounded it, "I'm sorry. This is a first for me. You've never come to me with a broken heart before."

Spencer was lying on his couch, staring up at the ceiling. He frowned. He'd never thought of it like that before, but it was true.

His father gave a half-hearted kind of chuckle, "Feels like we're actually father and son, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it does." Spencer admitted, knowing what his father meant. They saw each other so irregularly that catch ups were the only form of conversation they ever had.

"Deb would know what to say," The colonel said. A moment passed in silence over the line between father and son, an awkward moment. Spencer felt like the Colonel was about to make some kind of excuse about work and let him go. He kind of wanted him too.

"I've just cleared my schedule for the day." The colonel suddenly said, "Tell me what happened."

Spencer put a forearm over his eyes, where hot drops were sliding out of the corners into his hair, and began.

After a few hours of Spencer talking and the colonel throwing words in here or there, the artist had said everything he'd needed to get off his chest. It felt kinda good, but it reminded Spencer a little too much of the last time he had the stomach bug, like he'd just thrown-up all the contents in his stomach so he was safe for the moment, but if he tried to ingest anything else…

"It's all just…what do I do Dad?"

"Well, for one thing, you're gonna have to man-up a little."

"Hey—"

"You're a little soft, I think you get it from Deb."

"Well that's—"

"That's tough love, son."

"Thanks."

"Listen, Socko was a great girl. She certainly spiced up the weekend, but let's be honest here. She was never gonna to stick around and turn into the suburban house wife."

Spencer snorted in confusion. He didn't even want a suburban house wife—who said he wanted one of those? Dad understood the snort.

"I know you don't want to hear it, but I told you so."

"Dad," Spencer said. Anger was a refreshing emotion. "I'm not talking about the humanitarian who saves tigers and pandas and build schools in Africa and protests the destruction of nature. I'm talking about Socko, the girl with the socks that I've been talking about for fifteen years."

"There's a difference?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. Have you tried telling her that?"

Spencer's voice fell back into his throat. He swallowed. "No I haven't."

The colonel laughed. "Well then, might wanna get on that, before she, I don't know, gets on a plane to China or something."

Spencer was already on his feet on the couch. He leapt over the side table, knocking over the lamp as he grabbed his coat and keys. "THANKS DAD! I LOVE YOU!"

...

Socko parked her jeep in the shade of the tree line, where she always parked it for long stays. She really needed to be around people who cared about the right things. She was going to be here for a while.

People doubled looked her as she came in. "Hey, where's Shay?"

It was the first time since Africa that she was coming here without him.

"Don't know," she answered, and by the look on their faces they got it. _Oooh_, they said, _saw that coming_. She figured that they probably had—they knew how straight laced he was. Unlike the others, he only came around about once a month. He never drank or smoked, or danced. He never once joined in on a protest or a rally or a fund raiser.

Of course they saw the end coming.

So why hadn't she?

She was explaining to Plum and Juicy why it was over. For some reason, they didn't seem to believe her. She realized it was because they'd heard this from her before.

How many fights had they gotten in over his lack of interest in her life? How many times did she announce to her friends that it was over, only to let him sweet talk her back into being with him?

That pissed her off. Maybe she let hormones and silly girlish fantasies get in the way before—but if it was always going to come back to this, what was the point?

She was talking to Rocky about this when his eye caught something over her shoulder and his expression changed. Socko turned—and there was Spencer.

"Hey, Socks."

She was still too mad at him to have missed him at all. She didn't make a single move towards him. But there were some things she needed to say. She cleared her throat,

"What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you."

Socko glanced around and saw her friends trading knowing smiles. That somehow only strengthened her resolve to stay mad at him. She drew a deep breath and nodded.

Socko led Spencer away, over to the rock face. Her tent wasn't set up yet. The usual place sat bare like the place in a yard where a pool used to be. It only reminded her of how much he kept her away from this place, her home away-from-home.

"Listen, I'm sorry about what I said," he said.

"No you're not. You were being honest."

"Yeah, but—"

"My mom means everything to me, Shay," she interrupted. "If you can't find common ground with her then I don't see how this is going to work."

"Why not?" he asked, eyebrows pushed low over his dark eyes, "Is your mom going to be in this relationship?"

It was almost like he was making a joke, except he was sincere. He somehow always made these things not as big a deal as they ought to be—as they were. She sighed.

"You don't understand. When daddy left, she was all me and Ty had. She taught me to follow my dreams, to take on the world, to have fun and be myself. I trust her completely and—well, she thinks you aren't good for me."

"Of course I am—and you're good for me." He tried to take her hand, but she pulled it away. This would be easier if he wasn't touching her. She wasn't going to let him talk her out of this, and his touches were far too persuasive.

"No, maybe she's right," she said. She looked at the dirt as she said it and she hated that, but there was nothing she could do about it.

"Socks—"

"You don't share my passions, Shay!" she cried, then checked her volume and added, "we don't have the same goals and ideals about life! I should never have ignored that."

He looked her up and down, cool and collected. "Socks, you _have_ been ignoring something while you've been with me, but that isn't it."

There was a moment, a beat, of silence. It felt like he was several steps ahead of her. She wasn't sure she liked Got It Together Shay. Where was Caught-off-Guard, Trying to be Goofy About It Shay?

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"You've been my best friend since we were fifteen," he said, "Back then you were all sorts of things but you were never—trying to change the world in _a hundred different ways_. You were happy just to do it with your socks. That's what I liked about you."

She smiled despite herself—he had such a soft look on his face. She wanted to kiss it. She cleared her throat and looked away. _No_.

"And when you're between your Statements that's when I have the most fun with you because that's the most like you that you ever are. When you run off to do these things, it's like you're trying to be this whole person that you aren't!"

"Well, sorry but you've just been kidding yourself!" she said, "This _is_ who I am!"

"You don't mean that," he said.

"Why, in the world, would I say it if I didn't mean it?"

He dropped his head back, lifting his arms. His hands were still in his coat pockets and the result made him look like some kind of skinny pterodactyl in flight. "You're trying to be who you're mom wants you to be, not who you are!"

"No I'm not!—and any way, my mom wants the best for me!"

"My parents wanted the best for me, too, when they pushed me to law school—but that wasn't for me, was it?" He pushed air out of his nose. "We can't think like our parents or do every little thing the way they want us to do them. We have to think for ourselves!"

"I do think for myself!" she cried infuriated by his implication that she did otherwise. "I don't do this stuff for my mom. I do it for me! This _is_ who I am!"

The breath rushed out of Spencer when he saw that she believed it. A moment or two of silence passed between them and he said, thickly, "I guess it is," turned and walked away.

Socko chose right after her talk with Spencer to set up her tent. She did it fast with years of practice and climbed inside. It was zipped up before she let the tears fall.

He'd never walked away from her before. Not ever, in all of their fights. It had always been her storming off, him coming to find her. His fingers tracing lightly all over her body, his arms holding her tight as he told her secrets in the dark, and his dark eyes roving over her intently for hours as he sketched her tangled and only half covered in his sheets, his smell, his laugh, his everything that had felt so much like home. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes until she saw stars.

But behind the stars came the image of him turning around and walking away.

That reminded her why this was for the better. She had always expected he would leave. The last guy who felt so much like home had packed his things and left in the middle of the night, leaving nothing but children with his eyes and a message with their mother that he was sorry he wouldn't see them grow up.

If she felt at all a little disappointed when no one came knocking on her tent in the next hour, she ignored it. She was used to it after years of expecting a call from dad on birthdays.

And never getting them.

She found her iPod and stuffed the ear pieces into her ears, turned the volume up as loud as possible. This wasn't her first break up and it wouldn't be the last. It wasn't her first sex, nor her first love—wasn't even her first crush if she counted Justin Timberlake in that 1996 fro.

Which she totally did, because who didn't?

Yeah, it hurt—of course it did, it was love, and now it was over. She swallowed the knot in her throat, pushed the thought away and made a firm declaration in her head that she would get past this.

It was occurring to her that maybe she didn't _want_ to get past it; maybe she wanted to get _back in it_, when someone ripped open the tent's zipper. It was old, the track was catchy, and whoever was on the other side had far too much enthusiasm to get it open quickly. The tent nearly collapsed under six feet of panting artist.

Socko paused the music, couldn't breathe. It was him. The zipper tore free of the canvas and he collapsed face first on her sock-clad toes.

"SOCKS I'M STILL HERE!" he cried. His coat was gone. He looked flushed with exercise as if he had run to his motorcycle and back. He was panting so hard he wheezed and choked, making it impossible to speak, but he tried anyway. "I'M—I—I'M—"

"You're still here," Socko said, slightly dumbfounded. He nodded and tried to continue. "I—I got—all the-all—"

Socko pulled the ear phones from her ears and smiled. "You got all the way to your bike and turned around?"

He wheezed and nodded as his arms gave out and he collapsed again, rolled onto his back to stretch out a stich in his side. His hands found her socked-feet and his fingers slowly patted them over, as if testing the shape and the texture and finding great comfort in it. Holding her ankles close to his chest like a teddy bear, he calmed considerably.

Socko rolled her eyes and took her legs back, tried not to be as amused as she was. Spencer opened his eyes, brushed his hair out of the way. It was getting kinda long again. He sat on his knees before her and took both her hands. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left like that."

"It's okay. I'm a big girl I can take care of myself."

"Of course you can," he laughed, "But I can't leave without giving you a proper goodbye, and without telling you something. You've got a talent that, if you wanted to, you wouldn't have to do anything else but make and sell socks. Do you get how _amazing_ that is? You can support yourself fully with your art. Not all of us—"He stopped and swallowed, looked down and finished, all breath, "Not all of us are that lucky."

She put her fingers to his lips, "Stop it, you're an amazing artist."

He smiled, liked that she didn't move her fingers right away. She did eventually, and looked away. She drew in a deep breath, put on a smile, "We had fun, Shay."

"Tons," he said on the front of all of his breath as it rushed out. It can't be over. He wanted to beg her not to make it be over.

She reached out and touched his cheek. It was rough under her knuckles. He hadn't shaved that morning. She smiled, "I'll see you around, Shay," she said and she crawled out of the ripped tent's front.

_AN: JT 1996 fro. Who else had a crush? Raise your hand *raises two*_


	10. Chapter 10

**10. I Don't Think Stabbing is an Emotion; It's More Like an Activity…That I Hope You Don't Do To Me.**

He couldn't stay in bed all day. He had bills to pay. He drug himself to the junkyard of a morning, then suffered through shifts at the dentist office. On weekends, he sculpted his feelings. Though Spencer was beyond caring anymore, Carly called his newest sculptures his best work. Maybe they were, they were certainly based off the strongest emotions he'd ever felt.

Heartache, sadness, hatred, anger, love, forgiveness, longing, hope, fear, peace, courage, joy, confusion…The more he sculpted, the more emotions he unearthed. It was like the junk yard. He could turn over Hope and find a green snake of Jealousy. He could open Fear and out would scurry failure and loss and life-just-wasn't-fair, who-knew-where-mom-was, and what-if-Socko-was-right?

He was so confused. On some level he was glad it had happened. Yes, glad. There were a lot of lessons here he had needed. Like Dad had said on the phone, "I've learned that if it doesn't kill you it makes you stronger." That made sense. It was like blacksmithery, the way the metal was strengthened by getting melted down and beaten into a new shape.

But on the other levels, he just missed Socko and the inspiration and fun and beauty life had with her in it. Carly said that if he tried he could find fun, beautiful inspiration in other things, but he just didn't want to. He couldn't muster the energy to try.

_God, it's like you don't even try to do anything!_

She was kinda right.

Dad asked about it. Both he and Carly were calling pretty regularly. He was pretty sure they had a schedule worked out between them. Once she'd evidently recruited Sam to cover for her, because Sam had left a bored sounding message through a mouth-full of food. "Yeah, just callin' to make sure you didn't cut off your ear or hang yourself or whatever. Later."

After that, he tried to at least sound happy when they called.

Making chicken stir-fry in his wok—not because he was terribly hungry but because it was just time—Spencer listened to his Dad casually beat around a bush.

"So whacha been doing besides working son?"

He shrugged.

"No cute girls get their teeth cleaned recently?"

Spencer chuckled before he could help himself. Then he remembered a well-built woman who'd come into the junkyard looking for a place to ditch her old washing machine. She'd flirted with him. He sighed and cut the heat, left the food sizzling in the kitchen.

"Dad, do you still catch yourself comparing all the women you meet to mom?"

"Ah!" the colonel sounded one part shocked and three parts relieved. "So there was a cute girl with teeth?"

Spencer mumbled something about just thinking and time and a Spanish meatball saying it was time to move on.

"I told you you'd bounce back from this."

Spencer made a few non-committal noises.

The colonel sighed. "Listen, you don't have to get back on the horse, just get back on your feet."

"Mmmkay."

"Time," Steve said. "They say time fixes everything."

"Does it?"

There was a pause. "I'm starting to find out. So what else is going on in your life?"

"You mean besides my loneliness and despair?"

"Exactly," the Colonel said firmly, "You have to focus on other things. What other things do you have going for you?"

"C'mon, Dad, who cares."

"I care. Now use your brain, son. What do you have? You're health, your family, your art, and your work, right."

Spencer scoffed, "Work is jank, I don't think about it when I can."

"You hate your work," the Colonel repeated somewhat coldly.

"Yeah," Spencer said, and he burned his thumb on the pan. He sucked on it. "Who doesn't?"

"It's true most people hate their jobs, but I thought the entire reason why you threw away thousands and thousands of dollars of tuition money was so that you wouldn't have to slave away at a job you despised? What happened to the son who looked me in the eye and declared he would do what he loved?"

"I _am_ doing what I love," Spencer groaned, not even in the mood to let his father's attitude make him angry.

"What, sculpting on the _weekends_?" The colonel sneered. If his father was simply trying to push his buttons to get him out of his funk, that worked. Anger flared in Spencer and he drew in a deep breath—but then he remembered Beverely.

_"You don't want to work for other people for the rest of your life do you? Don't you have some kind of dream, other talents to pursue?"_

_My mom thinks you're no good for me._

He told his father he had to go and hung up and for the very first time ever, thought that Beverly might have been right.

...

Socko was helping to set up the picnic tables with the decorations—it was Lizard's little girl's third birthday party. She was tacking dinosaurs to the tress surrounding the tables. She turned to start with the streamers and gasped upon seeing him, her blue eyes popping wide.

Spencer was holding a cake in the shape of a happy-looking T Rex.

She swallowed, "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged, "I promised to make the cake," he said. He put it on the table, shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and crossed the picnic table area to her.

"How've'ya been?"

"Fine," she lied, then amended, "Busy." Her blue eyes flickered over to him, then back to her work with the tacks and the cardboard cutouts of extinct monsters. She cleared her throat, "I've been putting more focus on my socks again—sales are up fifteen percent."

"Excellent!" he cried.

She nodded. An awkward moment passed and then she asked, "How have you been?"

"I've been better—doing a lot of sculptures and moping," he said, openly admitting to his pain. "I did realize something, though," he said.

"Oh, yeah?" she asked, "What's that?"

"That your mom was right," he said. "She still doesn't have any right to attack my beliefs, but she does know what's best for you. I was just too proud to admit it, but, you do deserve someone better."

"What?" she honestly couldn't imagine anyone better for her than Spencer Shay.

"No, really," he whispered. "I mean, what do I have? Just two part time jobs that I hate and no time between them for you or my art. I need to change that if I'm going to be there for you no matter what."

Socko blinked, "A-am I replacing Carly as your number one priority?"

He grinned his turtle grin and shrugged, moved just a little closer. "She's in college now, she doesn't need me."

"Yes she does and you know it." Socko said, moving a little closer to him as well.

"Okay, tied for first place?" He asked as he moved close enough to smell her—the smell of coffee from her café. God, how he'd missed it. She took a fist full of his t-shirt.

"Deal," she whispered. They bumped noses and kissed.

He broke it. "WAIT!" he cried,

"What?"

Spencer was inches from her, and he spoke lowly, "There's something else that I need to tell you."

"What?" She asked as he took her face in his hands.

"I love you," he said and his smile met hers in a long, deep kiss. It didn't progress into any kind of loud laughter because this was a kid's birthday party after all. Still they rolled around against the tress a little bit and traded stories about their misery and happiness until Plum found them. She winked and announced the party was starting.

With prompting, Spencer had caved and, with a borrowed banjo, supplied musical accompaniment to the birthday song along with Richard-With-The-Guitar. While everyone else enjoyed cake and ice-cream, he sat at the fire-pit with the banjo on his knee. He'd learned to play it years ago after realizing the chicks new to the party tended to fall for the musicians first. He knew two and a half songs, and Richard-With-The-Guitar was teaching him the beginning of a third when they were interrupted.

A boy arrived in front of him. He was about five, with curly blond hair hanging in blue eyes and his face was flushed red with exercise.

"Hi, do you want to play with us?" he asked, and a throng of other children emerged from the surrounding woods.

"We're playing a game!" a girl about the same age as the boy squealed.

"Play with us!" the others chorused.

Spencer had been planning on sneaking Socko out of the camp as soon as she was finished cleaning up, but the kids—there were, like, ten of them—were all smiling and laughing and begging, and he had never before in his life been able to refuse a happy child.

"What game are you playing?" he asked.

"Tag," the boy said and he came forward and poked him hard in the chest, "tag!" he squealed and they scattered like bugs with the light on, "YOU'RE IT!"

Spencer sprang to his feet, made a grab for the weakest looking one, but she was faster than she looked. He ran for the next, but the little gremlin dunked under a log and was suddenly out of reach. Five minutes later, he had a stich in his side threatening to split him in half. Realizing that tag with a bunch of five year olds wasn't going to be as easy as it sounded for a man so out of shape as himself, he called a time out and had them gather around,

"How about another game?" he asked.

"Like what?" they asked.

Spencer grinned.

...

Socko turned the last bend in the path to find the area surrounding the party tables swarmed with kids and a tall lanky figure standing up on a table.

"Simon says PUT YOU HAND ON YOUR NOSE!" he was shouting. The children touched their noses, "Simon says JUMP UP AND DOWN LOTS OF TIMES!" The children began hopping, and Spencer cried, "Now stop!"

Most of them stopped.

"HAHAHAHA!" Spencer bellowed, "SIMON DIDN"T SAY!" He did a silly victory dance, then started pointing at children, "Christian, CJ, Summer, Lily, and Luke are OUT!"

He knew their names. Socko didn't even know all of their names. The children he singled out hurried to sit with the others who were out before them and play resumed. He had them all laughing—and was even engaging the ones who'd already gotten out. She watched for two more Simon Says, marveling at how well he was with children, not really realizing that it was tickling a deep down primal sweet spot. He was good with children. He would be a good father.

She was thirty—the clock was ticking. That thought struck her hard. She never thought about it before, having kids. She'd always assumed she would someday, but suddenly it felt like her window was closing… She couldn't breathe.

Up on his picnic table, Spencer was shaking his butt because Simon said to, and almost like her distress was a signal, he looked right at her, his dark brown eyes catching her blues dead center.

He smiled. "Simon says HUG THE PRETTY LADY!"

Socko was swarmed by ten gremlins and Spencer, who picked her up and twirled her around. Socko laughed, thrilled to have his arms around her once more. He didn't let her go right away and it made butterflies explode in her stomach. How could she miss one person this much? She kissed him until the children got restless, and began pulling on his shirt, "What does Simon say next?" They kept asking.

"You're really great with them."

He shrugged. "It's easy."

Lizard's wife heard and laughed. "Not for all of us! You've got real patience."

"I do?"

All of the grown-ups agreed. Spencer's eyebrows went low. He'd never thought of it as any kind of skill, probably because Granddad called it immaturity, but here was a group of parents slightly amazed with his connection to kids.

Spencer was surprised to hear that he had some kind of, what Lizard termed, _calling_ _with brats_. Looking back over his life, he supposed it must have been true, but only because he was just a big kid himself, surely. But then Socko started bragging about how wonderful a guardian he'd been for Carly—how great she'd turned out—and a few of the campers agreed based only off their impression of him over all these years.

Apparently, just as he thought of Kyle as Lizard, others thought of him as Single-Dad-Spencer-or-Something. They were utterly surprised to learn that the Carly he always talked about was his sister, _not_ his daughter. Everyone had a good laugh about that, and then an even harder one when his last name revealed that he was the famous Shay and not a woman. Now it was Spencer's turn to smirk and be gawked at as the last remnants of their gender bend was revealed.

"Wait, wait," a young man said, having just entered the conversation to find out what was so funny. "So the brilliant artistic woman called Shay, who I've been imagining to be my sexy soul mate, is actually the tall, horse faced Single Dad that Socko drags up here occasionally to relax?"

"Horse faced?" Spencer asked.

Socko laughed, shook her head, kissed his cheek. He felt his face, frowning.

"What the fat-cake?" The kid was crying, "Why'd'ya tell me Shay was a chick?"

"IT WAS FUNNY!"

"KING O' PRANKS BABY!"

Socko and Spencer did the firecracker to celebrate the extent and longevity of the gender-bend.

"Well that's just great," the young man pouted. "I'm probably just going to die alone then—unless you gotta hot sister?"

Spencer stopped laughing and Socko winced. "Yeah, but sorry she's spoken for."

"Butter balls."

Spencer smirked and thumped the kid on the back. "Hey, hang in there, dude. So long as you express yourself and be a gentleman, you'll find someone in no time."

"Really?"

"Totally."

"_Awesome_," the young man walked off to contemplate this piece of advice.

Socko hugged him proudly. Yup, this was her man, Mr. Good with Kids. It was still such a brand new desire of hers that she felt a little wobbly in the knees to think about it.

Beverly had asked if he had any other passions to cultivate, did this count as one? Spencer wasn't sure, and anyway, what would he do with it?

The next few months of Spencer and Socko's relationship saw Carly and her friends home for the holidays—laughs and some embarrassing business that involved Sam and Freddie, no shirts, the couch, and Spencer home early—AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! THIS IS _MY_ COUCH! WHYCOULDN'TYOUBEONYOUROWNCOUCH? THIS IS _MY_ COUCH!—and too many wonderful moments with Socko to count. Moments of losing himself with her as they moved together in the dark, or waking up next to her, or just laughing as he hung out with her, or hearing her say something in her blunt and loud way and suddenly getting a whole idea for a new sculpture made Spencer start thinking about rings and ways to phrase things.

He didn't want to rush it, and so when his thoughts turned to things like that he tried to ignore them—but five months with her on top of fifteen years of friendship were blurring lines between Too Fast and Just Right.

The only problems they ran into was whose apartment to spend the night at, what kind of take out to order, or what not to drink in the shower. Now when Socko heard about a statement she helped out in ways she could but now with Socko's Socks a full blown business, she couldn't do much more than write a check or babysit a kid so someone else could stay out all night cuffed to a tree.

These things Spencer was only too happy to participate in while he got along with Beverly. They still didn't see eye to eye in politics and the like, but now that Spencer was actively pursuing his newest dream, she at least accepted him as her daughter's choice in life. And Spencer reciprocated respect with civility.

...

Spencer punched in his pin number and smiled at the amount in his checking account. It was significantly swelled. Not only was a payment for one of his latest sculptures sleeping in there, rubbing up against the last wisps of child support payments, but so was his last check from the dentist office. His very last. He breathed in the smell of Seattle rain deeply and let himself bask in the glorious freedom that came with the idea of never having to put on scrubs and mop up spit ever again.

It was early, the rain splattered on his umbrella in a relentless tattoo as he waited for the bus. He was on his way to his first day on his new job. He was excited, bouncing from one foot to the other as he waited, then drumming on the seats during the ride until an old guy with no teeth hit him with a rolled up newspaper.

His stop came and he bounded off the bus behind a line of uniform-wearing ankle biters. He held the door for them and then slipped in out of the rain. His new office was by the music room, adjacent to the art room, _his_ art room, which he could see through the glass wall of his office.

He sat in his swivel chair and put sneakers up on his desk. He'd never had an office before.

He pulled a sketch pad out of his bag. He wanted to sketch the view of his art room through his office window. Just so he could title it "the view from my office window." That made him feel like a grown up.

He opened the book—and lost his breath.

He'd been in an anxious hurry this morning, had grabbed it at the last minute from a pile of them in the corner of his room. He hadn't realized which one it was or he would have left it. It was far too private to have in a school, especially a private school.

The first page, the only one colored in the whole book, depicted a face half in purple shadow half in sherbet-y glow, with big blue eyes sparkling at him. With breath tight in his chest, he turned the page.

He'd sketched her from the knees down as she sat in an armchair in her café, with her stocking-ed and blinking legs dangling over the arm of the chair. On the next page was an abandoned attempt to sketch her hands, she was crocheting some socks, and the one after that was a close up of the curve of her neck where it met her shoulder, where her purple-striped braid rested. This, too, was incomplete, lacking shading.

The next one made him swallow. The only one in the entire book he hadn't done from memory, the one with the most detail, the only one she'd modeled for. She was in his bed, in his sheets, more than the usual amount of stars showing.

The last one wasn't from memory—not quite. Her smiling face, yes, but the hand on which she rested her chin didn't have the ring on its third finger, not yet. Actually, maybe it was a good idea he'd taken this with him; didn't want her seeing that before he popped the question.

He shut the book hard and crammed it into his bag, next to the ring-box he had stashed down there. The knock on the door startled him, and after that, he was too busy chatting with old mister music teacher to fret over it.

Carly called as he was on his way back home. He told her all about his first day as an art teacher, how the kids had seemed to like him, and how excited they been when he'd brought out the clay. Their last art teacher had only ever let them have crayons. She was just interested to know if he'd manned-up since last they'd spoken.

"No, I haven't asked her yet—I want it to be special."

Carly's laugh bubbled in his ear as the bus he climbed on jerked and roared into motion. "Spencer, you've been telling me my whole life to make things like this special, but you know what I've figured out?"

"What?"

"The only way to make them special is just to let it happen however it wants to happen. The next time you get the urge—and I mean the very next time—you ask that crazy lady to marry you." It was a flat out order.

"Yessum," Spencer said in resignation. Wanting to make it special had been his last excuse. Carly was preaching to choir about letting things take their own course. It was the nature of his and Socks entire relationship, after all.

"Good," Carly laughed. "I want a sister already!"

It made his heart swell to hear that Carly wanted Socko as a sister. "Okay—WAIT?"

"What?"

"What'd'ya mean you figured out how to make things special? Does that mean you and Gibby have, uh—"

"We're not having this conversation."

He laughed. "Mmkay."

"Bye."

"Bye!" He hung up and smiled at his neighbor before realizing it was a nun who'd heard a little too much of the conversation. He cleared his throat and looked out the window until his stop, a block from the café.

Socko was mopping up spilled coffee when the door opened and he bounded in, stopping so short to avoid the puddle that he went onto his toes, arms flailing like windmills.

"SOCKS!" he cried in greeting.

"H!" she called back, though they were in arms reach of each other. His flying hands caught her by the shoulders and he steadied himself.

"YOU WANNA MARRY ME?"

Socko lost her breath and starred into his turtle smile.

"D-Do I wanna marry you?"

"Yeah, it'd be fun." He reached in his bag and pulled out a box. "What'd'ya think?"

She'd been expecting this—well not this, she'd imagined candles and mood music and probably the tux—but if she'd been hoping for any of that romantic stuff, she forgot about it now. This was better, somehow. Sure, she was holding a mop that smelled like vomit and had sweat on the back of her neck from wrestling with the crates in the back. He was in street clothes and had a folded Briarwood Academy Teachers' Dress Code pamphlet in one fist but he had the ring and he'd certainly surprised her and really that was all any girl wanted.

She nodded before she ever got her breath back. "Okay."

"Okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she nodded again, more vigorously.

"YEAH-HEH!" he shouted picking her up. Everyone in the café cheered and clapped. Spencer looked into the shockingly blue eyes he'd found in high school, and gave her his mother's ring.

AN:_ Was that ending lame? It felt like a real romantic thing would have been lame, what are you thoughts?_


	11. Chapter 11

**Epilogue: Fifteen Years Later**

Debbie was crying. Who knew why any more.

"Don't cry, blue skies!" Spencer sang as he darted down his hallway, fumbling with his tie. Granddad Steve was in a chair, holding the red-faced squalling child.

"DAD!" Spencer cried, "What are you doing here?"

"He came over before any of us were awake," Socko moaned from where she lay on the couch, her shirt failing to cover a swollen belly.

"That's creepy, Dad. You don't get a key if you abuse it like that." Spencer laughed and he noticed the bouncing thing that his father was doing to quiet Baby Debbie and how it wasn't working. "Do the crying thing, like I told you!" he said.

"I thought you all could use my help this morning, first day of school and all!" the retired Colonel defended, still bouncing the baby.

"Dad, the crying thing!" Spencer repeated.

"I've been trying!" Steve said, "It won't work."

"You have to match the pitch," Spencer was explaining.

Socko suddenly sat up, holding her stomach. "They're kicking!" she cried excitedly.

He swooped eagerly over the back of the couch to feel for himself. It was even wilder than before, with two sets of feet kicking away. He didn't know how Socks was doing it. He kissed her in reverence and broke it when he realized she was crying very openly.

"What is it?" he asked, not too alarmed. She cried over mismatched socks these days.

"I'm gonna run out of time—I want them to have brothers!"

"You'll have plenty of time," Steve reassured his hormonal daughter in law.

"No I won't! Mom went into menopause when she was 45!" And suddenly Socko was sobbing, crying as fiercely as her baby girl in Steve's lap.

"It's your own fault for waiting this long," Steve said with a shrug.

"Oh bite me, Dad," Socko cried.

Spencer came round the front of the couch and went to his knees, pushed blond hair from his wife's face, "We'll give them brothers," he said, his face all screwed up and his tone matching her pitch.

Socko double looked him, shoved him, "That doesn't work on me," she said, but she was laughing.

"I know," he said, "But it makes you laugh. And when you laugh—"He pointed at Debbie, who had quieted and was smiling happily at her laughing mother.

Steve held the suddenly happy Debbie out like a dirty football, eyes wide, "Ha!" he laughed.

"But, seriously," Socko said with a sniff as she began tying Spencer's tie for him. "Dad's right! We totally waited way too long! I'll be forty six next month! What if—"

"Socks," Steve cut in, "Chill out."

"Don't tell me to chill out—I've got two eight pound babies pressing on my bladder!"

Steve only laughed. Socko groaned. "Don't I hear your wife calling for you?"

Steve tilted his head, "Nah, I don't hear the whistle." He looked back at Socko, who was beginning to cry softly now. He dropped all his goofiness. "You will give me grandsons, Socks. I'm certain of it."

"And if you can't, we can adopt the rest." Spencer said with a shrug.

"Right," Steve put in, "I'm sure my step son and Sam would love to give you some of their boys."

Socko tied Spencer's tie and he stood. "I'm going to miss the bus!" he kissed his family and hurried out. Not for the first time, he wished he hadn't sold Gib the bike. Socko had to keep the car to get herself to the hospital—no need to repeat the fiasco of baby Debbie's birth, not when it was twins on the way.

He reached the bus stop only just in time and, though he knew better, leapt aboard, missing the first step entirely. His dress shoe had absolutely no traction. He slipped and grabbed the safety rail and the rod mechanism that opened the door. There. He wasn't falling anymore, but he was nearly hanging out of the bus.

"Don't break it!" barked the bus driver.

It was just an _awesome_ way to start the newest—and most exciting-school year of his career.

In a little bit of pain and smarting in the ego department, he made his way to the back of the moving bus, where someone was laughing openly at him. Spencer took a seat at the window and looked across the aisle at the little gremlin.

"Excuse me, little girl, are you laughing at me?" he asked.

She nodded a head covered in little blue braids. "It was funny."

Spencer scoffed, then noticed the Briarwood Uniform. "YOU GO TO BRAIRWOOD?"

She rolled her eyes. "My dad's making me go."

Spencer shrugged. "Well in my experience girls with blue hair can use the discipline."

She gasped, kicked at him with a foot clad in a cowboy boot covered in glittering rhinestones. He pointed, "Nice boots, but those aren't regulatory—they'll make you take them off."

She shrugged, "They can _try_. Meanwhile, I'll be making lots of friends."

Spencer laughed, "Well, they're certainly, uh, _eye grabbing_."

The girl sighed, tossed her hair from her face, gave the old man a pitying look. "It's the twenties, Daddy," she laughed, "They're the new look."

Briarwood freshman always got a surprise when they learned that the art teacher didn't follow dress code. Spencer always got a kick from their faces when he ever so casually propped his feet on his desk, revealing flashing colorful socks as he explained his syllabus, which in short was focused entirely on Spontaneity and no letter grades. His relentless flirting with the elderly female Dean of Briarwood allowed him this freedom.

As he set them free to pound on some clay, he noticed that Tom, a good looking but quiet boy, had strategically chosen a work space next to Gemma, the only girl in the class with blue hair. As the pair of awkward young teens began to talk, Spencer got a warm feeling in his chest. It'd been so long ago now since he'd met his witch bride, that he didn't even remember that it wasn't actually love at first sight.

Then the blue headed girl giggled a little too loudly, and Spencer saw that the boy had skipped about fifteen years and was going in for a kiss—_what the huh_HEYSTOPTHAT—

Gemma's dark brown eyes snapped to Spencer's with a clear warning to stay cool.

Right. Spencer composed himself. The last thing she would want would be her crazy art teacher dad shouting at any boy who smiled at her. And he had been teaching long enough to know that the Briarwood Boys would be smiling at her a lot as they looked her from her blue hair down to her rhinestone-covered cowboy boots.

He sat back in his chair and pretended like he didn't care, although he minded the space ol' Tommy was leaving between them.

That afternoon, as always happened, one or two of the freshman art students came around to his art room after school. They were either excited about what they could get out of class or freaking out about his no letter grades policy. He was surprised to find that Tom was in the second group.

"What'd'ya mean, you don't give _grades_?" he asked. He was wearing reading glasses, big round ones with wire rims. They hadn't had enough time in class for Spencer to get to know each student yet, and he hadn't realized that this Tom guy was so—nervous.

"It's meant to be a reassurance that I won't judge you." Spencer explained quickly so that the boy wouldn't hyperventilate. "I want you to put your feelings into some kind of material form that others can see and touch."

"But how does this class possibly help towards college if we don't get graded?" Tom asked.

"It'll help you toward _life_, which is much more important than college," Spencer said as he packed up his things.

"But—"

"And if you show me that you're really _trying_, you get an A."

"That's it?" Tom asked, sounding disappointed. He was clearly a young man who enjoyed a challenge.

"It's harder than it sounds."

"Okay… Um, what if I don't have anything to paint or sculpt or whatever?"

"You have something—what do you feel?"

"I don't know…" the boy shrugged, "Lots of things, I guess."

"What do you feel that is the most powerful feeling you've ever felt?"

The boy blushed, raised an eyebrow. He was fourteen. There was only one powerful thing he felt. Spencer threw his head back and laughed, his swivel chair squeaking, "Ha!" he clapped the boy on the back, "Okay, so do something with that!"

"Like what?"

"Clearly nothing that will get you expelled," Spencer said. "But maybe you can try to paint or sculpt something that—"he smirked, "_inspires_—you."

Tom was horrified to hear a teacher talk in this way. He paled and a blush tinted his cheeks. He looked down, scoffed, "That'll get me expelled."

"If it's art, it's not dirty—" Spencer reassured and the added hastily, "Unless, you know, you go too overboard with it. We do want to keep it tasteful, please, so that I can keep my job."

"Right, right, right," the boy said. Spencer could see the gears turning behind the boy's face. He packed up his things and stood, "Okay, think on it, and you can start tomorrow." He headed out

"Wait!" Tom cried.

"What?"

Tom shifted his weight uncomfortably and asked, "What if what I want to paint—what if she's in the class? Would that be weird?"

Spencer suddenly recalled the way this boy had been talking to his daughter. He cleared his throat. "Um," he was trying too hard to be casual but Tom was too uncomfortable to notice, "A student inspires you?"

"Well," Tom breathed, looked down as a blush turned his whole face red, "It's that girl with the blue hair—you must have seen her. Gemma? She's really cool."

Spencer smiled, a laugh bubbling out of him—it was baffling how Tom could have set through the entirety of that art class and not realize that he and Gemma were father and daughter—but then he decided it was too funny to fix. He didn't correct Tom.

And it would be years before he would _have_ to.

_AN: So the colonel and Marissa... did that make you smile or gag in the way that Christmas special did when Spence married her?_

_So there it is, out multi-chapter Spencer fic. How was it overall? I'm afraid the ending of the last chapter might be rushed (had to wrap this sucker up with a random proposal or else it would have went on and on forever. 'Cos we know you guys have lives outside of fanfiction. What's that like anyway? lol) Did this epilogue save it?_


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